


Pas de Deux

by onemilliongoldstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, F/F, Idiots, Modern AU, also please stop having sex and ignoring your issues, lexa needs to chill out and clarke needs to pay a bit more attention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemilliongoldstars/pseuds/onemilliongoldstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa, the country's most sought after young dancer, keeps away from the cameras, focussing on her art form. She is single minded in her determination to be the best, until a clumsy, out of place girl wanders into her dance class and shatters her perfectly ordered life with snarky remarks and sloppy insteps. Unfortunately, Clarke is not all she seems and everything she knows could come crumbling down around her thanks to hot hands guiding positions and lies whispered between cotton sheets. </p><p>or</p><p>Ballet dancer Lexa meets young journalist Clarke Griffin and everything starts spinning faster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa is a stuck up bitch and Clarke tries really hard, before giving up entirely.

_"Alexandria Woods is set to become one of the youngest principle ballerinas in the country when she finishes her time studying with some of the best dancers to grace the stage. She has a technical ability unseen before in one so young and an indescribable beauty that follows her to the stage. However, Woods is arguably the most elusive star in the city and refuses all interviews and news pieces, despite her popularity, making her something of a mystery."_ Indra purses her lips, flattening the newspaper out irritably against the table in the corner of the studio.

From her position on the studio floor, bent forwards elegantly across her legs, Lexa watches her carefully, observing the impatient steps as they draw closer to her. Her eyes fall back to her shoes, tugging them on easily, running a finger around the seam to be sure that they're flush with her skin as she speaks, idly.

"Three years in the press and they still can't call me Lexa."

"Good," Indra runs a hand over the barre, watching her in the mirror with eyes as sharp and intense as the first day Lexa met her, watching as she stands and starts to stretch out her feet. "It removes them further from your life."

"They'll lose interest soon enough," Lexa waves a hand, bending to straighten one of the satin ribbons closer against her ankle. "It's only a matter of time." She moves towards the barre to stand a few metres away from Indra, one hand lifting to rest delicately against the polished wood and stretches slowly to one side, her other arm curving over her head.

Indra just grunts, watching her body as she moves. Lexa can feel her eyes burning through her leotard, but she knows Indra will not be able to correct her and so she continues to speak as she repeats the exercise on the other side.

"I'm not some sort of pop star, Indra. I don't need the press."

"True," Indra manages to crack the smallest of smiles, nodding once, "you have come far in your years with us."

"Of course I have," her eyes flicker away from herself in the mirror for just a moment, lighting on Indra. "I had the best teachers."

Indra inclines her head at the compliment and steps away from the barre to move back across the room. Lexa feels a thrill of gratitude and pride run through her body; it had taken years for Indra to trust her enough to stretch alone. Lexa is too valuable an asset to possibly damage and just one wrong move could snap a tendon or rip a muscle.

"Are you worried about today?" Lexa shifts forward, placing both hands on the barre as she moves easily into plié and then a grandé plié, feet together and knees apart as she lowers herself slowly to the floor.

"Am I worried about letting a bunch of lack wits into our studio?" Indra sighs heavily, pacing in front of the window to stare out, tapping her fingers anxiously against her arm. "Of course I am."

"Why do you let it happen?" She moves up, resting her feet for a moment before shifting to her toes on her left foot and then curling her foot forward, so that her toes are caught beneath her foot.

"You know why." Indra turns, eyes darting to her feet and asks, sharply. "What are you doing there?"

"Sixth position." She begins the same process on her other foot and sceptical eyes flicker to Indra, one sleek eyebrow rising. "As I've been doing since I was seven, Indra."

"Of course." Indra waves her away and Lexa allows her eyes to fall back to her stretching. "Apologies, you know what the summer program does to me."

"I ask again," she turns, parallel to the barre and places one foot in front of the other, lithe, smooth body slipping forward until her nose is close to her ankle. "Why do you do it?"

"The board like it," Indra clicks her tongue against her teeth, as she does when she is particularly annoyed and Lexa thinks of the amateurs that will soon flood the studio and how little they will know of Indra's moods and smiles slightly. "Anya insists. She says it is a way to make ballet more accessible." She almost spits the word and Lexa feels her own face wrinkle as she rises up onto her toes, back perfectly straight.

"Ballet isn't accessible, it's too difficult for most people." She turns her hips, pointing her toes and dragging one foot in back flexing her hips again and pulling her foot back out. "It takes too much discipline."

"Yes." Indra turns from the window to watch her again. "Discipline was never your issue."

A small smile tilts her lips upwards. It's about as close to a compliment as she is going to get. As if to prove the woman right, she shifts into front coupé, one foot flat on the floor as the other flexes, resting in the air just beside her ankle, before moving into passé, strong muscles easily lifting her foot up to beside her opposite knee as she moves onto her toes. It's feels as easy as breathing and she meets Indra's approving smile in the mirror.

"Soon this will all be over." Indra moves to join her on the barre as she continues to stretch. "I think," she lingers for a moment, hesitating uncharacteristically. "I think," she begins again, "that after the summer, you will be ready to move into professional companies."

Her body jolts and she falls from her position, feet slumping to the ground and the only sign of her training is the way her feet point out into first position as she gapes at her teacher, struggling for words.

"Really?" She finally manages to speak, but the words are weak. "You think I'll be good enough?"

"You didn't hear?" Indra raises an eyebrow, "you're the best ballerina in the city. Companies will be desperate to have you as their principle."

The smile on her lips rises slightly higher this time, though her eyes stay fixed on her stretches.

\----

The motley crew that filters into the studio, all eager faces and shiny new leotards, aren't much to impress. They stand around, talking excitedly and stretching inadequately at the barre and Lexa watches from the corner as Indra saunters through the group, correcting a hip here, a pivot there with harsh words and fingers that Lexa knows are hard and unforgiving. She still remembers sitting on her bed and tracing the pattern of the bruises as small as the smear of a fingerprint against her skin, counting the lessons that went along with them and committing them to memory. The bruises are long faded, but the technique remains and she feels the benefit every time she flies across the stage.

Alongside the walls stand the rest of the academy's best students, though Lexa recognises few of them. Her lessons in the last year have been private, instructed by either Indra's sharp words or the slap of Anya's cane against her skin, keeping her away from most of the younger students. Most of them dart uncertain eyes in her direction, though she ignores them. Her gaze is focused on the group of amateurs, all of whom have no more than six years of ballet training under their belts, if that. The training, Lexa thinks lazily as she flexes out a foot, barely shows.

Indra claps her hands high above her head and the room quiets immediately, dancers turning to watch the woman with wide eyes as she stares them all down, jaw set, the muscles in her arms rippling as she clenches her hands together behind her back. "Welcome." Her voice is clear and curt, perfectly civil. "You are all lucky enough to have been offered a wonderful opportunity-"

Behind them the door slams open with an ugly rattle and a crash and in stumbles a dishevelled figure, raising a hand apologetically to Indra.

"Sorry, sorry," her voice is surprisingly strong, despite her obvious embarrassment and Indra watches her, lips pressed together, until the girl falls into place against the barre, dropping her bag with a thump at her feet.

"As I was saying," Indra drags her eyes back to the rest of the dancers, but Lexa can't quite seem to follow her lead, her horrified gaze resting on the dancer in the corner.

She is small, perhaps even smaller than Lexa herself, who is slight for a ballerina. Blonde hair falls in wild curls around her face, neither grip nor band in sight to keep it off her face and she's dressed in tightly fitted leggings and the sorriest excuse for ballet shoes that Lexa has ever seen. Several ratty woven bands climb up thin arms and Lexa can see the edge of a tattoo on her shoulder hidden only by the strap of her vest. The girl’s eyes dart up to meet hers for a second, blue as clear as opals shining out at her and Lexa turns back to Indra, pushing her lips together into a thin line.

"Your position here is unparalleled, nowhere else are such amateur students able to work with such advanced dancers. You will be assigned a mentor for your five weeks here and at the end of the program you will be given the opportunity to audition for the school."

Unbidden, Lexa's eyes move back to look at the blonde girl and she is surprised to see that blue eyes are still fixed to her, though the girl looks away again hurriedly, two pink spots rising high on her cheeks. Her brows furrow a little, but she pays her no further mind.

"I expect only the highest level of work from you." Indra strides through the rows of ballerinas, "discipline is what makes a ballerina, along with blood, sweat and tears." Her eyes meet Lexa's for a moment. "You must be prepared to work. You're in the best place for it, it's down to you now."

She instructs them to move along the barre, one expert beside one amateur and Lexa thanks whatever deity may be watching over her that the girl beside her is a least marginally well trained and doesn't look as if she will spend half of the second ogling the elusive ballerina beside her. Indra directs them in several movements, for first position, to fifth, to fifth en pointe and followed by an elegant arabesque.

Lexa watches as she brings her arms up elegantly above her head, the movements almost second nature now. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, as they should be, but occasionally she will allow her gaze to wander, flickering to watch Indra walk up and down the rows of dancers. She reaches out to move limbs, calling a stop every few moments to correct one unsuspecting amateur or another.

The blonde girl is struggling.

It's obvious, splayed out for them all to see in the way that she lifts shakily into her shoes, her trembling arms and stuttering movements and Indra pauses beside her for a few long moments, positioning her as she would a marionette before moving along again. She circles back to her every few minutes, always able to find a new fault, a new issue and Lexa can see the blush rising high over her collarbones, creeping onto her neck and cheeks, but the girl doesn't falter. She is grudgingly impressed.

Indra takes a break after fifteen minutes and they disperse, the amateurs hurrying to sit and stretch and rub at sore muscles. Lexa's eyes dart back to the blonde, watching the way that she slumps back against the barre and wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, almost draining her water bottle. Indra takes a seat on the table at the front of the studio, flicking through pieces of paper and Lexa approaches, stepping easily over outstretched legs, ducking away from the stares that follow her.

"Who is she?" Her words are soft, murmured discreetly as she reaches past Indra to grab her water, taking small sips.

Indra raises an eyebrow, her eyes still fixed on the files in her hands as she speaks, dryly, "that's the question really."

"You don't know her?" Lexa's eyes crease, perplexed. "You screen every candidate."

"Not her." Indra places the papers next to her, "Anya submitted her late, insisted she would be allowed to attend. She's of interest."

"So she might not even be qualified?" Her indignant words come louder than expected and she pauses for a moment, gathering herself. Her eyes dart back to the girl for a moment, watching her lifts her foot up to press against her butt in a half-hearted stretch. "Look at her, of course she isn't qualified."

"Lexa," Indra's voice is sharp, reprimanding her, "we do not question Anya's judgement."

"No, we don’t," she concedes, finally but the words have some bite to them and she doesn't return Indra's gaze as the woman watches her walk away.

The blonde manages to cause more problems, somehow. Indra has them move to **croisé derrière** and in the process the blonde manages to hit the girl behind her so hard that her nose begins to bleed. Momentary panic ensues as the girl cries out, her friends hurry to comfort her and a litany of apologies escapes the blonde, but Indra is quick to restore order.

"You, find somewhere else to stand." She instructs the blonde, sharply and the girl hurriedly steps away from her place at the barre, eyes darting uncertainly around the crowded studio until she lands on the empty spot in front of Lexa.

Silently, the ballerina curses as the blonde approaches, wishing fervently for the return of the earlier girl, who is now engaged in trying to stem to onslaught of blood from her friend's nose. The blonde dumps her bag down beside Lexa and blows stands of hair from her face, brushing them away impatiently. Up close, Lexa can study her, track the way her blush crawls up her chest, lighting the tip of her ears beneath her hair. The girl is flustered, embarrassed and she meets Lexa's eyes for a moment before turning quickly away, clearly upset.

 _Good_ , Lexa thinks, stubbornly. She's a pretty horrible dancer.

The class continues but Lexa's primary concern is now avoiding the erratic thrusts and strikes of the girl in front of her. She watches her from the corner of her eye, wondering at this strange girl, apparently Anya's new prodigy. The words have a bitter tinge in her head, like the edge of blade. It's been too long since she last saw Anya and she misses the dark, dusty office with the large, antique mirror and the curt words of her instructor, a heady mixture of Russian and English as the smell of violets and gin permeates the air around her. Has this girl been admitted to such a sacred space? The idea makes Lexa's jaw clench and she is momentarily distracted so that when the blonde swings round she does not have time to anticipate the leg that collides with her stomach, winding her.

She makes a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a shout, and staggers away from the barre, doubling over for a second as she forces herself to get a hold of her breathing. The girl turns, horror etched in her eyes and Lexa cringes away from the hands that reach out to help her, anger flushing through her when she realises that all eyes in the class are fixed on her.

"Do not touch me!"

"Sorry!" The girl backs away, arms held high above her head and Lexa can't help the biting words that escape her.

"You are a _mess_!"

"Hey!" The girl scowls at her, arms crossing over her chest ad pushing her breasts up in an angry huff. "I was only trying to _help_!"

"Well don't." Lexa stands, trying to straighten herself. "I've had enough of your _help_."

"Jesus," fingers run through tangled golden hair, pushing it back from her face agitatedly. "No need to be such a bitch, you don't want my help, I get it."

"I don't want you anywhere _near me_." Lexa straightens her back and her mind flashes back to Anya, back to long hours in ballet class while the sun shone outside. "Is screw up infectious?"

"Lexa!" Indra's words jolt her away, turning to blink at the instructor in surprise. She had almost forgotten that anyone else existed in this world besides her and the infuriating girl stood in front of her. "Out!" She flourishes a hand at the door, furiously, "both of you!"

Lexa doesn't look back, her rage pushing her through the doors and out into the wide, airy corridors, where she stands for a moment, chest heaving with irritated breaths. The girl follows her out, several steps behind and Lexa automatically moves away from the cause of her annoyance, stepping further down the corridor until she is far enough away to lean back against the wall.

Her eyes stay fixed on the picture that faces her, one of Anya incidentally, when she was a prima. She is halfway through a grand jeté, caught in the air, her neck elongated elegantly backwards and her arms high above her as she leaps. She studies the photo, eyeing the extension of her legs and the point of her feet as she flexes her own feet, still in pointe shoes. Indra could be at least half an hour before she comes back to them and immediately expects them to start dancing again and Lexa knows not to let her muscles relax, so she shifts, placing a hand against the wall and counting as she moves into pointe for a few moments.

She lifts out of the shoe, as she has been taught, rising high and tapping along the corridor for a few seconds before twisting and landing gracefully. She counts in her head, shifting between positions and up into pointe, choreographing mindless, meaningless steps to keep herself entertained as they wait.

"You're good." The voice startles her and she wobbles for a moment before grasping onto her balance again, tightening her lips as she lets herself slip back into first position.

"I'm the best."

"Right," the girl eyes her and Lexa can see her playing with the strap of her bag as they wait, fingering it nervously. As she stretches her leg out behind herself, she hears the girl speak again. "You're Alexandra Woods, right?"

"Lexa," she corrects, automatically, turning to lift out of her shoe again before slipping back to the ground, as if the movements mean nothing.

"Lexa," the girl echoes, smiling widely and then says, almost as an afterthought. "I'm Clarke." She holds out a hand that Lexa doesn't take and eventually lets it fall, rubbing it nervously against her leggings.

"That wasn't an invitation for an introduction." Lexa tells her, coolly, watching as irritation sets into the girls eyes and she sets her jaw, sucking in a deep breath of air before saying, in an unsteady tone that betrays her wavering will.

"Listen," she spits the words out through gritted teeth, "I think we just got off to a bad start. I'm sorry I hit you, that was totally unacceptable and it'll never happen again, I promise. But... you can't just hate me because of an accident."

"No," Lexa replies with a nod, bracing a hand against the wall to pull her leg up until it is straight in the air, her knee close to her cheek and she wonders if she imagines the way Clarke's eyes flicker over her, "but I can hate you because you're a joke of a dancer."

Clarke's mouth falls open indignantly, but before she can speak the door to the studio slams open and Indra steps out. Lexa lets her leg fall, shifting back into first position easily as she watches the instructor, her face set with unhappiness.

"I won't accept such behaviour from either of you, is that understood?" Indra snaps and Lexa can see the way she is grinding her jaw, as she does when she is especially irritated. "Clarke, is it?" The blonde nods, "you are new here, but foul language is not tolerated in my studio. We are professionals here, do you understand?" Clarke nods again, clearly cowed and Lexa is allowed a second of satisfaction before Indra's eyes land on her and narrow slightly. "And you, I expect better from you. Has twelve years training taught you nothing?"

Lexa bows her head, shame crashing over her like a wave and she imagines that Anya's picture is watching her, judging her choices.

"Maybe I was wrong about what I said," Indra intones, a little more softly and the words cut straight to her core. "If you behave in this way, maybe you are not ready at all."

Despair replaces her shame, but she lifts her chin, clenching her jaw as she meets Indra's gaze steadily, nodding her understanding because she is sure that if she even dares to open her mouth her sorrow will escape her like water from a dam.

Indra clears her throat, looking back to Clarke. "While you were both gone arrangements were made for mentors and as the only students out of class I have paired you up together."

A sick sense of dread, of inevitability, settles in her stomach and she keeps her mouth shut, grinding her teeth slightly when she sees the worried glances Clarke is tossing her way.

"As I explained to the rest of the class, this is an opportunity for you to learn and work together. It will be fulfilling for both parties." Her eyes narrow a little, "I expect no talk of this ridiculous squabble, understand? And _certainly_ no repeat performance."

\----

She is required to attend one of the later classes, as Clarke's mentor. The words still feel wrong, rotten and she wrinkles her nose just at the thought of them, sliding herself onto a table beside Echo and lifting her legs up to push her knees out, the soles of her feet pressing together as she watches the summer program students gather together.

It is one of the most important classes of the program, where the students will learn what will finally ensure them a place at the academy. The pas de deux is one of the oldest traditions of the academy; difficult to execute perfectly unless one is in perfect harmony with their partner and filled with complicated technique. She still remembers her own first partner, a boy who'd dropped her on stage in front of 200 people.

The pas de deux is not one of Lexa's favourite dances.

The rest of the mentors sit, some quietly talking but most engaged in their own stretching. It strange for them all, she knows, to have such odd breaks to their day and it's important that their muscles remain warm and flexible. Automatically her eyes are drawn to Clarke and she finds the blonde sitting alone, cross legged, her eyes fixed to her phone. None of the other students seem to want to accompany her and for a moment she feels a fleeting flash of pity for the girl who is so obviously an outsider.

Her mind flicks back to long days spent in dusty studios and tiny bedrooms, stretching and spinning and leaping. She remembers wandering to her window, small fingers touching the glass as she watched a group of children outside play in the autumn leaves and lingering there for a few minutes, before an ever familiar voice called her back to practice.

"Lexa?" Next to her, Echo is frowning and she snaps back to reality, irritated.

"Yes?"

"Which one is yours?" She indicates to the students and she presses her lips together for a moment.

She knows the girl was there this morning, during the calamity of the earlier class, but there is no way around it. "The blonde. Clarke."

A snort escapes her and Lexa glowers, annoyed. "God, good luck with that. You'll never make a dancer out of her."

Her jaw ticks and she grits her teeth, brows set heavy with determination as her eyes move back to Clarke again. "Watch me."

Once again, Clarke is looking at her.

\----

When Lexa sets her mind on something, it gets done.

She wouldn't be where she is today without such ferocious determination and so when she strides into the small studio and finds Clarke leaning against the barre, phone in her hand once again, she pauses and surveys the oblivious girl. Her body is only barely suitable for ballet, her legs slightly short and her hips and bust are larger than Lexa's, though her instep is good and her neck long and elegant from what Lexa can see beneath her hair. She stands slightly slumped, however, and doesn't automatically shift into first position, which seems unusual. This is not the time to comment on it, however, so she coughs slightly to alert Clarke to her presence.

"Oh," Clarke jerks upwards to look at her, blinking in surprise and shoving her phone quickly into her bag. "Hi."

"Hello," Lexa inclines her head, making her way closer until she can press a bag into the girl's hands. "I'm your mentor now, so we have to start rehearsing."

Clarke only nods, eyes flickering from the bag to Lexa and then back again.

"It’s the appropriate uniform." Lexa provides, casting an appraising eye over the girl's clothes. "This, in particular," her hands reach out, fingers grasping the material of the baggy vest top, "is not acceptable clothing."

"I like my clothes." Clarke frowns, making no effort to move and Lexa can already feel a migraine developing between her eyes as she sighs, softly.

"Good for you. They are not appropriate for ballet."

"I can dance in them," Clarke rebukes and Lexa scoffs, shaking her head.

"Barely."

Clarke's eyes narrow and Lexa sees her jaw tick, just once. "I _like_ my clothes Lexa. I'm not changing."

"You are if you don't want me to throw you from this studio right this second." Lexa snaps in reply and Clarke's eyebrows shoot up.

"You wouldn't dare," the challenge is bitten out softly and Lexa takes a step forward, until they are only inches apart.

"Try me."

"Don't make me change." Clarke isn't backing down.

"Listen to me very carefully," her voice is low and quiet but there is real danger undercutting her words. "I have several other things I could be doing right now so just give me an excuse to kick you out of my studio for insubordination, I beg you."

Clarke grinds her teeth, furious and irritated, until suddenly her hands go to her leggings, pushing them away from her hips so that they fall to her ankles and Lexa gapes, startled by her actions. "What?" The girl demands as she bends to tug the leggings away from her feet and Lexa sees just the glimpse of pink satin and lace before she turns away.

" _Behind the screen_ , Clarke." She gestures across the room, to where an old screen stands and hears Clarke let out a slight huff.

"Well," she mutters, "you should have been clearer."

Lexa grits her teeth, clenching her jaw tight for a second before taking several long, calming breaths. She risks a glance over her shoulder, glad to find that Clarke has disappeared behind the screen and stretches idly while she waits, shifting up onto her toes and then back again. A few minutes pass and she glances at the clock on the wall, clicking her tongue impatiently and saying "make sure you always dress appropriately from now on; this is wasted time."

"God, yes _commander_." She can practically hear the sarcastic bite to Clarke's voice, but ignores it, pacing across the room to lean down and collect Clarke's bags from where they sit beside the mirror. "Hey! Leave those alone!"

Lexa jolts, startled by the sudden words and turns just in time to step away before Clarke collides into her, the girl grabbing for her bags.

She's a little stunned by the strange behaviour, blinking for a moment in silence before she finally says. "They're in the way."

"Yeah, _I_ can move them," Clarke insists, gathering the bags in her hands and clutching them close to her chest. "You just have to ask, god are you _always_ this impatient?"

Lexa doesn't deign to reply, sliding back against the barre to watch her walk away. She looks different in the leotard, the dark material hugging her curves closely and the pink tights seem to make her legs longer. The cut of the leotard helps, high at her hip; the crisscrossing straps leave open a significant amount of sun kissed skin and for a second Lexa finds herself caught, trying to count the freckles over her shoulders and back before Clarke spins to look at her, huffing and she tears her eyes away. The flush on her cheeks is irritation, she's certain of it.

"Come here." She beckons the girl closer, positioning her at the barre in front of the mirror. "First position," the words are a demand, but Clarke does nothing more than scowl and turn her feet out obediently. Blue eyes are clouded with a raging storm, burning resentment that bubbles just below the surface.

Lexa ignores it, pacing around her to take in her posture. "Back straight," her fingers web out against the back of Clarke's leotard, fingers pressing against the warm material to encourage her to straighten up, "turn your feet out further, shoulders back," her hands run up the length of Clarke's back, brushing over the bare skin to pull on her shoulders. "Chin up," she encourages, voice slightly softer as she uses two fingers to tilt Clarke's chin up, watching her meet her own gaze in the mirror. "You're proud of what you're doing, make sure they know it."

Clarke nods once and her eyes flicker to Lexa nervously; one hand still lingers on her shoulder and Lexa feels her breath catch, feels the slight jump of muscles beneath her palm. The moment of silence suddenly seems too long, almost stifling them and Lexa steps away, pulling back to clear her throat quietly.

"This isn't a proper ballerina's bun." She informs her, sternly, fingers tugging at the loose bun lying at the nape of Clarke's neck and she sees the girl's eyes harden as she pulls until golden tendrils fall in a wave down her back. Collecting the strands in her hands, she smoothes them out expertly, pulling until she can twist the hair in a bun on top of her head; small and tight and neat. Confident fingers work on instinct and her eyes flicker down, catching sight of the dark tattoo on Clarke's shoulder, now far more visible, of a feather, a small heart beside it. She bites back her questions, stepping away to observe Clarke, nodding approvingly. "Much better."

"Not exactly the most fun thing in the world." Clarke comments, wryly and Lexa sends her a dark look across the studio.

"Ballet isn't about _fun_."

"You don't say." Clarke's voice is dry and Lexa suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

\----

Every bone in her body is aching, throbbing with harsh, unforgiving pain and she cringes slightly as she stretches forward, rolling her body forwards across tightly drawn together legs. Her clothes are soaked in sweat but she is already starting to feel cold, the leotard leaving far too much of her skin on show and goosebumps are crawling their way up her arms and shoulders, making her shiver slightly.

Her eyes dart out to one side and she wrinkles her nose when she sees Lexa, all dark hair and tanned skin, back straight in a perfect split, stretching her arms up high above her head. She seems to sense Clarke's gaze on her, because she comments, without opening her eyes.

"If you were better trained and better practiced you would be able to do this too."

"Doubt it," Clarke rolls her eyes, sitting back up slowly and using her hands to slowly press herself back up to her feet.

Lexa lets out an impatient huff of air and shifts herself forward to touch her toes on one foot for a second before rising elegantly back up again. "You have to stop doubting yourself, you're perfectly capable as long as you put the work in."

"How would you know that?" She grabs her leggings, pulling them on over the tights and shrugging on her vest, reaching to unzip her sweatshirt as she continues. "You've only just met me, you don't know me from Eve."

Lexa observes her, eyes sharp and lips pursed thoughtfully as she speaks and she seems to ponder on her words for a few moments. "That's true,” she speaks slowly, as if she is still forming her thoughts even as she speaks. "But I've been doing this for a long time Clarke, I'd like to think that I know what to look for in a dancer."

"Oh yeah?" She reaches for her water bottle, taking a long swig of it, "what's that?"

Lexa paces closer and Clarke can't help but notice, as she has been doing all day, that she has an innate elegance in everything she does. Everything about her screams dancer, every bone in her body in inscribed with the word- probably in some sort of slanting, gliding italics- and it's almost intimidating to see someone no older than her so in tune and comfortable with their body. "Determination." Her voice is something Clarke is still struggling to get used to. She's never heard the girl talk before, only ever seen her glide across stage in YouTube videos and the strangely deep, intense voice doesn't seem to belong to such a lithe, graceful girl. "Skill, the need to impress someone," her lips quirk up a little bit and Clarke feels the flush creeping up her neck and seeping down from the tips of her ears.

She'd tried to be furtive, but clearly she hadn't done well, betraying herself with her anxious glances across the studio all afternoon. It's hard _not to_ want to impress Lexa though, she's so imposing, demands so much. She must remember that.

"You aren't a hopeless case, Clarke Griffin," Lexa tells her, softly, in the voice that sounds like dark coffee and cinnamon.

"Well gee thanks," she turns away, has to in case Lexa sees the pink spots on her cheek, which are definitely not because of her because _she doesn't care what Lexa thinks_. "Glad to know you have faith in me." She tugs on her hair band, trying to untangle her bun, but it stays firm and she lets out a soft grunt of frustration, freezing when she feels fingers on hers.

Silently, Lexa pushes away her hands and uses gentle touches to coax the band from within her hair, letting blonde strands fall down and around her face, brushing them forward and Clarke swears her hand lingers against her shoulder for a moment, before Lexa pulls away suddenly. They both seem to flush and Clarke is almost surprised to see Lexa's embarrassment. She comes across as a marble statue, perfect and ethereal and unaffected by anything as quaint as mere emotions, but the way that she clears her throat and turns away, fussing for a moment with her water bottle, is unmistakable.

"Um, thanks," Clarke hesitates, watching the girl uncertainly before continuing. "Honestly, you've been really great. I'd forgotten how much I liked dancing... it's been a while since I did it properly."

"It shows."

There she is, the return of the ice queen, as harsh and insensitive as ever and Clarke grits her teeth, glad that Lexa isn't turned to see her eyes roll back in their sockets. "Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe... grab a coffee?" The offer is tentative.

Lexa turns slowly, eyes wide with surprise and she looks Clarke over for a moment, as if considering, her, looking her up and down for risks and threats and for a second Clarke thinks that she will accept, but the strangely vulnerable expression on Lexa's small face slips away, crushed by a defensive wall. "No, thanks though."

"Oh, um okay." It's excruciating, the tension spreading between them. _Say something, anything_. "Why not?" _Not that_.

Lexa seems perplexed, disturbed by her insistence, but she also seems caught off guard and it is the first time that Clarke sees her struggle for words, before finally settling weakly on: "I don't drink coffee." Clarke opens her mouth to follow up her response, but Lexa seems to anticipate it and ploughs forward, allowing no interruption. "I'll see you tomorrow Clarke."

She's out of the door before Clarke can stop her and she feels a long breath of air escape her, the tension rushing out of her, shoulders slumping forward as she takes up her own bag. Dejected, aching muscles carry her out of the room and down the long corridors, until she emerges into the late afternoon sun.

She's by her car, fumbling for her keys when her phone begins to ring and her brows furrow, juggling bags and keys in an attempt to get to it.

"Hello?" She sounds breathless when she answers.

"Hey Griffin," Kane's deep voice crackles out of the speakers and she cringes a little at the sound. "How's it going?"

"Um, not great." She admits, letting her bags drop to the floor so she can lean back against the car and soak in the warmth of the sun as she talks. "It's harder than I expected."

"I guess you'll just have to keep trying." Kane sounds impatient, irritated.

"How long can I get away with it though? I barely managed today! I forgot how hard ballet was, I stopped when I was _twelve,_ they're going to start suspecting something soon enough."

"You know the deal Griffin," Kane sounds distracted and she can hear the rustle of paper over the phone, the score of a heavy handed pen over some poor reporter's work. "You need a story to prove to me that you're worth your weight, or I can't keep you on any more. Alexandra is the most secretive star the city has ever known, you get an inside scoop on her and I can offer you a permanent position. Isn't that worth a few sore muscles?"

She lets out a huff and an agitated hand raises to tug through loose hair, her words coming out on a sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Great. You know the plan Griffin: get in, get the deal on Alexandra Woods and get out again. Hurry it up, the big dogs wanted this story last week."

"You got it," she says, but the harsh dial tone is all that meets her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There's about 25k more of this so let me know down below or over on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars if you want to read more


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are bratty children.

Ballerinas are strange, Clarke has decided.

The girls who take class with her are almost all the same: tall, thin and ruthlessly competitive. She can see the way that they look at each other, their eyes flitting to the side to watch intensely as their neighbours dance, lips stretching into wide, fake smiles when they're caught, words of encouragement falling flat. They watch her as well, she knows, but with no real fear; she is by far the worst dancer on the programme and they all know it. They don't attempt conversation, except one girl with a friendly face and a quiet voice, who called herself Maya and spoke briefly with Clarke on their first day.

There's only one thing about Clarke that interests these girls: Lexa.

"So," the girl beside her speaks casually, as if they are best friends and Clarke eyes the redhead sceptically as she pulls her arm around in a stretch Lexa had demonstrated the day before. "What's it like to train with the best dancer in New York?"

"Good," she keeps her reply curt, bending to touch her toes rapidly. When she rises the girl is looking at her with pursed lips and narrow eyes and she blinks in surprise.

"Is she nice?" The redhead presses and Clarke chews on her lip, contemplating for a second.

"She's talented." She replies at last and the girl rolls her eyes, looking at her as if she's an idiot.

"Of _course_ she is. Does she teach you anything special?"

Clarke feels a rush of irritation spike within her, letting her gaze wander down to her feet as she shifts in first position so the redhead can't see the obvious resentment in her eyes. She feels strangely defensive of Lexa and their relationship, this girl's prying is incredibly annoying and she ponders exactly how rude she has to be to get the girl to shut up. "No."

"Does she talk about any of her tips or tricks? Does she have a special diet?" The redhead stretches forward a foot to tense and flex, bringing her leg up to press her knee close to her cheek and Clarke wonders whether this is meant to impress or intimidate her.

"Nothing. She just helps me with technique."

The girl eyes her for a second, before sneering slightly and shaking her head. "Yeah, well you need it." She spins, turning to face her friend and Clarke grinds her teeth, anger settling in her gut.

"Thanks," she mutters softly.

\----

"What do you _mean_ you're busy?" The outraged voice crackles with static as she walks and Clarke cringes, pacing further out into the grounds that surround the academy as she goes. It's quiet out here and the summer sun is bright and warm on her neck, so she takes the opportunity to escape the dusty corridors and cold, drafty studios of the ballet school any chance she can get.

"I'm not sure whether I have to be at work, O."

She cringes slightly at the sharp intake of breath she hears on the other end of the line, a clear sign that Octavia is getting ready for a fight.

"Clarke, Bellamy only turns 22 once. I mean, I know he can be a pain in the ass but how many times are you going to have the opportunity to sing Taylor Swift at him and have a legitimate reason?"

"All of this year?" Clarke offers, hopefully.

"It just won't have the same effect and you know it." There's the familiar hiss of a coffee machine in the background, the bustle of people and Clarke hears someone shout something, too far away to be heard clearly. "Okay, I'm here aren't I?" Octavia snaps back, before sighing, "Murphy can be such a dick sometimes, oh, Jasper says hi by the way."

"Tell him hi back. You shouldn't be late for work just because you're talking to me," she's eager to change the subject, coming to a stop in the shade of a tall ash tree and sitting slowly, depositing her bag next to her and digging through it to grab her apple.

"I've been working here for two years, ten minutes won't kill them." She can practically hear the girl rolling her eyes, " _anyway_ ," she continues before Clarke can rebuke her, "I had to take the chance to talk to the disappearing woman. I've barely seen you this week Clarke, which is a feat considering that you live _above_ this stupid shop."

"I know, I'm sorry," she feels a twist of regret in her stomach, "I've just got a big project for work, it's keeping me busy."

"Well at least Kane is finally recognising your ability," Octavia grunts and there's a moment of shuffling, the receiver crackling and she hears another muffled shout. "Yeah I _know_ , I'll be there in a second holy fuck."

The laughter spills from her without warning and she shakes her head, letting herself fall back against the trunk of the tree. "I miss you, O."

"Yeah, well I'm only a trip downstairs for god's sake, just come home once in a while. And _try_ to come to Bellamy's tonight, yeah?"

"I'll do my best," she promises and her eyes are caught by a familiar figure walking past the studio. It's the first time Clarke has seen her without her leotard on and she's momentarily distracted by the sight of leggings and a white singlet, a denim shirt thrown over the top, seeming so unnatural on someone she has only ever seen in pristine dance wear. Lexa's hair is out of its usual bun as well and she looks strangely softer, the messy French braid running long down her back, a few stray curls falling in her eyes. She's so interesting like this, almost approachable and suddenly young. Her fingers itch suddenly to draw the girl.

"Clarke?"

"Hm, sorry what?" She jolts, eyes flickering away guiltily.

Octavia sighs loudly into the phone, "I _said_ I have to go, but I hope that your assignment is at least _interesting._ "

"Yeah," her eyes move back to Lexa's distant figure, unbidden. "It's sort of fascinating."

\----

Her knock is clear and crisp, wrapping on the towering mahogany door before her and she shifts, moving uncertain from one slipper clad foot to the next as she waits for the response. Her hand is lingering on the polished brass of the door handle, fingers flexed and ready and she is fully stretched, her stomach twisting with anxious excitement as the silence rolls out before her, long and stifling.

"Come." The voice is harsh and accented, but it sends a thrill through her as her fingers clench and she twists, pushing through the door to step softly into the large, dim room.

It's an office, one that she's seen many times, but she hasn't been able to get over the grandeur of the room since she was a child. Each wall is covered with dark wood panelling and the wide windows to the side are partially covered by dusky drapes. Along the wall stands an antique mirror, the biggest that Lexa has ever seen and it is faded with age in the corners, darkening the reflection. A heavy desk sits in one corner, a faded, worn arm chair in the other and it's from this that a figure rises, approaching Lexa where she stands respectfully in the centre of the room.

"Lexa," the voice slips around her name like a mother caressing a baby and she tries to stop the smile that slips onto her features at the sound. "You look well."

"I am," she bows her head slightly in recognition. "Thank you Anya."

"You have been practicing greatly over the last few months, I hear."

 _From Indra_ ; the words go unspoken. It isn't a shock, she knows she is a topic of conversation, she's one of their most valued students of course she would come up, but it still sends a slight jolt running through her as Anya steps forward and into the light. Her cane thumps against the floor and Lexa has to force herself not to look at the odd angle of her right foot, which is still twisted, even after so many years. Anya looks out at her from a firm, serious face and Lexa tries to stand her ground even as the woman stands tall above her.

"I have, Anya."

"The showcase is in a week, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Lexa's face brightens, "the one in the city."

"They did well to invite you," Anya inclines her head just slightly but Lexa can see the smile sitting at the edges of her lips. "You will be a great asset to them."

"I hope to be." She watches as Anya moves, circling her carefully, to look her up and down, the slight bang of her cane the only sound in the quiet office.

"You are looking well," Anya nods thoughtfully, tapping at her thighs just once. "You are stretched?" At Lexa's nod, she smiles. "Good, onto pointe."

She does as she is told easily, stretching her arms out and Anya takes a few laboured steps away to watch her from a distance as she balances. It is difficult to stay on her toes for so long, her calves quivering at the exertion as her feet ripple with pain, but she remains, back perfectly straight and arms held neatly out to her side until Anya nods for her to fall.

"You are stronger than you were." Anya's slight approving smile is worth the shuddering of her legs and she inclines her head once.

"Indra says," she hesitates for a second, chancing a glance at Anya's eyes before her gaze falls back to her feet. "She says... I might be ready to join a company, come fall."

"I see," Anya's expression gives nothing away, even as she moves slowly closer. Lexa almost flinches away, almost cowers but she forces herself to stay tall and strong, watching the woman approach until she is only inches away and long, slender fingers move to her jaw to tilt her chin up, inspecting her closely for a moment. "I think she may be correct."

"Really?" The excitement in her eyes is hard to quash, but Anya does not correct her, despite her own sombre expression.

"You are in your prime, at nineteen you've already stayed with us longer than most." She acknowledges, stepping back to look at Lexa for a long moment. "You are one of the best dancers I have ever had the privilege to teach; the most committed, the most passionate, the most disciplined."

"I had the best teachers," she observes truthfully, "without you or Indra or anyone else here at the academy I would never be able to achieve what I can."

"We always did what we thought was best for you, _solnyshko_." The Russian endearment slips out, tacked onto the end of her words as if it means nothing and yet Lexa can feel the pleased flush creeping up her cheeks, the affection of her mentor curling in her stomach like a warm drink.

"I was always grateful Anya."

"That is clear," Anya's smile is wider this time, more tender and she leans more heavily on her cane. "You still have your heart set on the Bolshoi?"

"Yes," Lexa feels a slice of nerves run through her at the mention of the company, "they're the best company in the world and I feel... connected to them."

"You know that they take only the finest ballerinas from around the world?"

"I'm the best ballerina in the country." The words spill out before she can stop them and she immediately sees Anya's face cloud, her eyes hardened as she raises one arched eyebrow.

"I see." She turns, taking arduous steps away to lower herself into her arm chair. "Then I suppose you do not need any more tutorage?"

"No, Anya please, I didn't mean that." She follows, unable to help herself, hesitating a few paces away to look at the woman, pleading, "that was arrogant of me. I know a dancer can never stop learning. Forgive me?"

Anya's heavy eyes watch her for a few more moments, considering her and Lexa feels abruptly bare, wishing she was wearing more than just her leotard. "Your instep is weakening." Anya speaks curtly and Lexa bow her head, biting on her lip to keep herself quiet. "You'll want to see to that."

"Thank you, I will." She takes a shuddering breath, watching Anya intently from beneath her eyelashes and it's only when she sees the woman's expression soften that she allows herself to relax.

"Come."

Lexa slips obediently closer, sliding to the floor beside Anya's chair as she did when she was a child and looking up at her, eyes wide.

"You are a beautiful dancer Lexa, you will do well. I just fear," she pauses for a second, as if considering her words and a troubles expression has settled into her eyes. "I fear that you have something more to learn."

"What more?" The words fall like a pit into her stomach, hard and angry and anxious and she can feel the flurries of worry rushing through her, making her voice slightly frantic as she speaks. "I don't know what more I can do."

"I'm not sure I can put it into words." Anya's hand stretches out, touching her shoulder softly and drawing Lexa's eyes up to look at her, "I have faith that you will find it, Lexa."

"Thank you," the words are whispered and a heavy, contemplative silence falls between them, Lexa reaching out to nervously untangle the satin ribbons of her pointe shoes, wrapping them gently and carefully around her ankles, the pads of her fingers smoothing them down. "May I ask you something?" She is almost surprised by the sound of her own voice, but Anya just nods, quiet, and so she has to continue, faltering a little. "I just wanted to ask... I was placed with a mentee in the summer programme and she's slightly strange. Indra said that you pushed her into the programme specifically."

"Clarke Griffin?" Anya is frowning a little. "She's your mentee?"

"Yeah... she's kind of terrible."

Lexa smiles a little but she is met only by heavy set eyebrows and sudden, unexpected anger. "That's none of your business, Alexandria."

Startled, she stands quickly when Anya pushes herself to her feet, glaring at her through the dim light. "I'm sorry, I was just curious."

"I've been doing this job for years." Anya snaps, irritated. "Do you not think I know what is best for this school by now?"

"No! I mean, of course you do," she is flustered, a hot flush racing on her cheeks, "Anya I'm sorry, I was just wondering."

"Well I suggest you put your focus on your sloppy instep and not on my business." Anya gestures to her with her cane. "Now, run through your showcase routine for me. I expect a clean, concise performance, understand? And no more talk of Clarke Griffin."

"Understood." Lexa shifts into first position hurriedly, but the anxious pit in her stomach is only growing by the second.

\----

Lexa is already in the studio when Clarke arrives and she lingers for a moment in the doorway, two hands clinging to the strap of her bag, eyes wide as the girl dances. There's no music, but it doesn't seem to put Lexa off as she twists and turns through the air, stretching up. Her lines are long and graceful, like the sacred ink of dark cursive, penning a prayer onto timeless paper. She leaps, landing down onto her feet and slipping up into pointe before stumbling, just slightly. It's barely anything, but Lexa stops, running frustrated hands over her hair and letting out a soft grunt as she turns on her heel, stalking across the studio.

Her eyes land on Clarke suddenly and she comes to a halt.

"How long have you been stood there?"

"Oh, not long." Clarke hurries inside, letting the door swing shut behind her and Lexa purses her lips, her eyes moving up to the clock on the wall.

"You're late."

"Only by a few minutes," she's used to Lexa's prickly attitude by now, pacing past her to deposit her bag and slide out of her sweatpants and shirt, letting them drop beside the rest of her stuff. Now practiced hands begin to tug her hair up into a more formal bun as she speaks. "You're so good, are you practicing for something in particular?"

Lexa is silent for a few moments, inspecting her shoes before she says. "Yes, I have a showcase next week, with Joffrey."

" _Wow_ ," Clarke breathes out the word, awed. "No wonder, you've got such talent they must be snapping you up."

"I'm in demand," Lexa acknowledges and a dark cloud passes across her face as she looks away and says, a little more quietly. "But a dancer always has room to improve."

"Of course," Clarke agrees absentmindedly, watching herself in the mirror as she pins her hair in place, turning to inspect the back. Her eyes catch the dark ink on her shoulder and she tugs her gaze away quickly. "Will you be dancing with companies soon?"

"Perhaps," Lexa levels a steady look in her direction and she is abruptly off balance, uncertain as she looks away across the studio.

"Are those pointe shoes?" The dread in her voice is clear and Lexa raises a slim eyebrow at her, nodding.

"Yes. Your pointe skills are abysmal and you need to be able to dance on pointe for the final workshop." She moves past Clarke to pick up the offending shoes, pink ribbons dangling.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be able to do pointe," Clarke takes a hesitant step back even as Lexa rolls her eyes.

"Of course you will, you have a good instep you just need to get used to it. I've seen you do it before but you're way behind most other people." She thrusts the shoes at Clarke again. "Take them."

"I really don't think it's a good idea," but she takes the shoes, letting her hands curl around them and eyeing the pink satin distastefully.

"Well, luckily for you we have some work to do before we can even start dancing on them," Lexa gestures to the shoes impatiently, "put them on."

She's frowning, watching the ballerina with furrowed brows but Clarke sits obediently, pulling on the shoes and she's surprised to see that the ribbons are not yet actually fully attached, hesitating. Lexa ushers her up again, however, with little comment on the ribbons lying off to one side and holds out a hand for her.

"On pointe," she instructs, but more softly this time and Clarke takes the offered hand, fingers wrapping around an impossibly soft, strong palm and squeezing tightly as she forces herself up onto her toes, dropping back down seconds later with a huff of breath. Lexa's eyes are creased with concentration and Clarke braces herself for rebuttal, but none comes, instead the girl merely gesture again and Clarke does as she is told, moving back onto pointe for another few seconds. "How do they fit?"

Her brows furrow deeper and she wiggles her foot slightly, unsure. "Good?" It's almost a question and Lexa's sharp look has her hurrying to embellish. "I mean, there are no ribbons so it's hard to know."

"But otherwise, they seem to fit well?" Lexa drops to her knees in front of her and Clarke feels suddenly hot, the image of Lexa's bent head before her, one hand touching briefly at her thigh, is almost too much and the flush that races up her neck and cheeks is hot and fiery.

Strong fingers dig into her foot, pulling her from her thoughts and she flinches a little when she feels Lexa's brusque movements, wedging her fingers between the shoe and Clarke's foot to feel for excess room.

"They seem good," Lexa looks up at her and for a second they are both frozen as it seems that the brunette finally figures out where she is knelt and it's in a flurry of movements that they both jerk away, Clarke taking a stumbling step back as Lexa pushes herself to her feet. "Take them off," she gestures again but she's already turning to move away across the studio and Clarke toes the shoes off her feet with hot, flustered movements, clenching nervous hands together behind her back.

Lexa returns with her dance bag, sitting cross legged on the floor and she tilts her chin beside her, gesturing for Clarke to join her. Slipping to the floor and drawing her legs up close to her chest, she watches with fascination as Lexa draws a small bag out and unzips it to pulls out a large metal pocket knife, placing it easily on the studio floor. For a crazy, ridiculous second, she imagines Lexa threatening her onto pointe with the knife against her throat and crazily, it doesn't seem too farfetched, until Lexa draws out a pair of scissors, a needle and thread and some glue and her curiosity overthrows her survival instinct.

"What is all of this? Jesus, it's like you've got an entire arsenal in your bag."

"Have you ever heard of unmaking a ballet shoe?" Lexa's hands reach out and she pulls the abandoned shoes closer, arm brushing against Clarke's knee as she does so. For a second they are both silent until Clarke clears her throat and says, hurriedly.

"No."

"It's a common practice in ballet," Lexa casts her a strange look and she feels her flush returning, shrugging awkwardly as she looks back to the floor.

"I've been out of it for a while."

"Well," Lexa has clearly decided to ignore her anomalies, "in essence, it's the process of making pointe shoes more bearable. It can change from person to person," she draws her own foot up underneath her and gives Clarke a closer inspection of her own pointe shoes, which are battered and greying.

"You did this to your own shoes?" Clarke sounds unabashedly aghast, "I mean, I know they're horrible but this seems a little extreme."

"Maybe," Lexa acknowledges easily, "but it works, I promise."

"Okay," she looks up, nodding to her mentor as she lays her chin in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. "Show me."

"Oh no," there's a twinkle of amusement in Lexa's eyes and for a moment she looks young, like the teenager that she is, nudging Clarke gently in the calf, "you're doing this, I'm just here to instruct."

She lets out a long, exaggerated groan but clambers to her feet regardless, eyes flickering to Lexa's face to see her still smiling faintly and a flicker of satisfaction runs through her.

"This is the box," Lexa runs careful fingers over the end of the shoe, where the toes sit and it seems strange that she should be so reverent in the face of what they are about to do. "You should soften it up; we normally do this by pressing the heel of our foot into it, with all of our weight." She watches, nodding as Clarke does as she says and the shoe cracks ominously beneath her. Despite her words, Lexa rises and takes the other shoe, copying Clarke's actions wordlessly, until the shoe is a little dented and bent.

"I thought you were just here to instruct." The teasing escapes her easily, without her having to think about it, but it seems to take Lexa by surprise because she jolts and looks up at her, face crumpled into a frown before she sees the grin on Clarke's face.

"This is quite a satisfying activity when you have had a... trying day." She admits, quietly and Clarke frowns, opening her mouth to ask the obvious question, but Lexa cuts through her quickly. "Next we cut out the shank, the hard part of the sole," she demonstrates with her own shoe, tapping at it. "We'll only cut out the back quarter, it'll make it malleable."

"Okay." Clarke watches as she sinks to the floor again and releases the blade on her knife with ferocious skill, scoring a line and then cutting across it with the menacing blade, slicing away the tough material. "Fuck, you're good at that."

Lexa casts her a sharp glance, "no cursing in the studio," she reprimands, but the smile on her face betrays her amusement. "I've had a lot of practice." Clarke offers her the other shoe and she takes it wordlessly. "Bend that," she instructs and Clarke does as she tells her, bending the shoe over on itself.

"You just feel super natural with a knife in your hand, do you?" She quips softly and almost jumps when Lexa lets out a soft laugh. It feels like an oxymoron, seeing Lexa laugh. It's far too carefree and easy to come from someone who seems so steeped in tradition and formality.

"I think, in another life it would have come naturally to me." Lexa admits, smiling at her.

A moment of silence stretches between them and Clarke watches, fascinated, as Lexa carefully slices away pieces of the shoe. She is precise and serious, but the actions seem almost natural, as if she has done them a thousand times before. Her eyes follow the tension clinging to Lexa's toned arms, the stretch and pull of her muscles and the hard, sloping line of her jaw as she concentrates and she flushes slightly, looking away hurriedly. Lexa is undeniably beautiful, she knew that the moment she was presented with the case file on the assignment, but what she hadn't been prepared for was the pure, unadulterated power that seems to roll off Lexa in waves, crashing down around Clarke to drown her.

"Um," she speaks just to fill the void, suddenly awkward and uncomfortable. "What made you have a trying day?"

Lexa's eyes flash up to her and she scowls, her beautiful features falling in on themselves as her stare bores up into Clarke. "That's none of your business."

"Oh, come on Lexa," she smiles, pressing the shoe in her hands between her knees, using the strength in her thighs to fold it fully in half. "We're like... partners! You can tell me."

"We are _not_ partners." The words are spat across the room at her as Lexa finishes hacking at the shoe. "I am your mentor, your superior."

"Okay," the word sends a shot of anger running through her and her jaw clenches. "But you're just a student, you don't really have any authority."

"You're wrong," Lexa spits out the words, flexing the second shoe irritably and then gesturing impatiently for the first, pulling the ribbons close to her. It's almost ridiculous, seeing such rage directed to the act of sewing satin ribbons onto delicate pointe shoes and Lexa seems to sense it, looking up with angry eyes to nod to the bar. "Stretch. It's clear you can't be trusted with even a simple task."

"Rude," Clarke mutters, approaching the bar to begin stretching and it seems only moments later that Lexa has finished sewing and is stood beside her, pressing a firm hand onto her lower back to straighten her up, pushing so forcefully that she almost stumbles forward. Blue eyes as hot as fire flash up to glare at her in the mirror and she is met by only cloudy green stones, impassive and hard.

"Back straight." Lexa snaps, "I won't tell you again."

"Or what?" The words fall from her mouth before she can stop them, but Lexa doesn't turn, moving back over to work on the shoes.

"Or you won't appreciate the consequences, Griffin."

"All this because I wanted to know about your day," her grumbles are loud and can be heard clearly across the studio.

"No, all this because you refuse to respect the _innate authority_ that goes along with a ballet studio."

"It's _dance_ , Lexa!" Her voice is rising, angry, even as she starts to roll her feet backwards and forwards, stretching out her foot and instep.

"Do you think you are exempt from the rules, Clarke?" Lexa looks up this time, from where she is chopping at the end of the shoes with her knife. "I was raised in the studio, these traditions are sacred."

"You're ridiculous." The words are muttered under her breath, but though she must hear Lexa chooses to ignore her, instead saying, sharply.

"I need a lighter, wait here."

"A lighter?" She drops out of her stretch, surprised for a moment so it is only once Lexa is halfway out of the door that her words escape her quickly. "Wait! There's one in my bag." Pacing quickly across the studio, she digs through her bag to find the cheap, souvenir lighter Bellamy brought her back from Florida.

She tosses it, without warning, across the studio to Lexa but irritatingly the girl catches it with ease, curling her hands around it to raise an eyebrow at Clarke. "You smoke? That's terrible for you."

"No," Clarke resists the urge to lie just to piss her off, making her way back to the bar to continue stretching.

"No?" Out of the corner of her eye she can see Lexa flick on the flame and begin to burn around the bottom of the shoe. "Then why do you have it?"

"I don't smoke _tobacco_."

Lexa looks up slowly, looking irritated and disapproving. "That's even _worse_."

"Fun though." Clarke counters easily, dipping down to the ground, her two hands still steady on the bar. "You should smoke a joint some time, it'd help you chill out."

"I'd rather cut off my own feet, save myself the trouble of ruining my career slowly." Lexa intones, dryly and she almost snorts, pressing her lips together to stop her smile and shaking her head as she glances over her shoulder.

"Hey, what are you doing now?"

"Burning the excess silk, it keeps it neat and makes it easier to dance." Lexa blows softly on the ends of the shoes and shakes them slightly before standing in one long, flowing motion and gesturing to Clarke. "Here, put them on."

It takes her a few minutes to tie the ribbons to Lexa's approval, but she has to admit that the newly adjusted shoes feel a lot more comfortable and she slips experimentally onto pointe before Lexa asks her to. She's pleased for just a second at how easy it is, before a hand settles under chin, pushing hard and forcing her to stay on her toes even as her legs begin to tremble and her breathing picks up.

"You shouldn't question the order of a studio, Clarke." Lexa is dark, almost terrifying and at this height Clarke is just slightly taller than her, able to stare almost directly into stormy, unforgiving eyes.

"So this is a _punishment_?" The words are torn from her, breathy and furious.

"This is a _lesson_." Lexa corrects her, immediately and the force beneath her chin picks up a little. "One that I am in control of." Her hand drops away and Clarke stumbles down onto her feet cursing and shivering with exhaustion.

"You are _ridiculous_!" Her shout echoes around the studio and she tries to stand tall, her breast heaving with angry, tired breaths. "That was the stupidest thing, you could've _hurt_ me and all over some comment that I made! You're the worst teacher, Lexa!"

"Or maybe you're the worst student!" Lexa darts back and Clarke is startled by the crashing anger that she sees in the girl's eyes. "Do not presume to _correct me_ , Clarke and don't presume to break propriety. I am your _teacher_ , not your friend."

"Some teachers try to be both." Clarke storms across the studio, reaching down to grab for her bags, swinging them over her shoulder. "But who would want to be friends with such an uptight _bitch_!"

"Get out of my studio!" Lexa roars and she pauses by the door to scream in return.

"I'm already _out_!"

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your wonderful comments, please leave more because they are so encouraging! Come talk meta for this fic with me on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven is the MVP and ballet is super tactile. Like. Super tactile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the comments so far, they're wonderful! i am not a dancer, just an admirer so let me know if i get anything wrong

Her anger pushes her down the corridors, further than she has ever been before and it takes ten minutes before she realises, with an abrupt and horrific sense of dread, that she is lost. She keeps going regardless; her only other options are asking some passerby, who will surely raise an eyebrow and look her up and down or returning to the dance studio with Lexa and she is sure as _hell_ not doing that. She can still feel the heat of Lexa's hand pressing up against her chin and her words, demanding respect for authority, ring around Clarke's head like a vulture circling a kill, waiting for scraps.

Her feet pound onwards, slippery in the ballet slippers but it's only when she sees the approach of several girls from her class and is suddenly aware of her flushed cheeks and exposed skin and tangled hair- half pulled from a bun- that she veers off course, barging through the first door she sees.

She comes to a sudden halt as she enters, turning to peer at the cavernous auditorium she now finds herself in. It's large, with a balcony high above the circle and plush red velvet seats making up long lines as she starts down the steps. The stage lights are on, but the auditorium is dim and she deposits her bags in a seat near the front of the room, intending to sit and wallow in her own self pity for a while, but the stage is too alluring. If Lexa throws her off the course she might never get a chance to dance on a stage like this and as much as she hates to admit it, the past week has ignited something deep within her she thought long dimmed.

Careful, wary steps bring her closer to the stage, until she reaches the stairs and her hand reaches out to tentatively touch the metal railing, fingers curling around it. A few steps more and she is on the stage, hot under the lights and staring out into blinding darkness. There's a strange anonymity that comes with the feeling, even though she knows very well that she is clearly visible to anyone in the audience. Her feet tap along the stage and she hesitates again, eyes darting from side to side as she looks for possible intruders, before slipping into a tentative pirouette.

Her foot hasn't even touched the stage again before a voice calls out, startling her so much that she almost falls.

"Hey, twinkle toes, this space isn't open for rehearsal."

Clarke squints out past the blinding lights, looking for a figure, but when the voice comes again, it's from behind her.

"Over here."

She spins, tense and on edge and a woman emerges from the curtains, raising an eyebrow in her direction. She's wearing tight, dark pants and a loose shirt and there's a tool belt fastened around her waist, dark hair secured in a sensible ponytail at the back of her head. Clarke's hand flashes up to touch her own hair, suddenly self conscious. It's strange to see someone who looks so jarringly _normal_ in this weird, warped ballet world and it makes her feel even more absurd in her pink tights.

"Sorry," she apologises hurriedly, taking a faltering step away. "Sorry I was just..." she gestures uselessly to the stage, struggling for words for a moment before her shoulder slump and she shakes her head."Yeah, I guess I don't really know what I was doing."

"It's okay," the girl frowns at her, eye creasing at the corners and Clarke swears she can see concern peeking at the edge of her gaze. "If you need somewhere to just... chill, for a minute, you can do it here."

"Really?" The hope in her eyes must be obvious because the girl gives her a sympathetic smile.

"Of course," she holds out a hand, moving slowly closer and Clarke suddenly spies the brace wrapped around her left leg. "I'm Raven, by the way. I'm the main technician here in the auditorium, that's why the lights are on," she nods upwards, "just giving them a test run."

"Cool," the blonde holds out a hand, "I'm Clarke Griffin. I'm a student at the uh, the summer programme."

"Oh," Raven's eyes light up a little, "thought I didn't recognise you." Her eyes scan over Clarke, shifting up and down blatantly and she says, a touch of pity in her voice. "Bad session?"

"You could say that," she laughs weakly, pulling the hair band completely from her hair and letting it fall around her shoulders. "I kind of... screamed at my mentor."

"Ouch," Raven winces just slightly, but there's a smile on her lips and when she speaks she sounds amused. "I'm sure it's not too bad, your mentor will get over it."

"My mentor is _Lexa Woods_." Clarke tells her, simply and watches with a slightly pang of satisfaction as Raven's mouth drops open and she lets out a shocked burst of laughter.

"Holy _shit_! Oh god, okay now you have to tell me everything."

\----

She finds that Raven is a good listener. They sit at the edge of the stage, feet dangling over into the orchestra pit- _"careful not to lose a slipper, Jaha's the conductor and he'll kill you_ ,"- and Raven listens as Clarke recalls Lexa and her irritating quirks and harsh methods.

"She's just so hot and cold, you know?" Clarke flops back onto the stage, staring up at the rafters where the lights and curtains are suspended. "I can't figure her out; one minute she's being pretty cool, I mean cool for _Lexa_ , but the next she's snapping at me like I just ran over her puppy."

"In fairness," Raven is chewing her way through a sandwich as they speak, "you don't really know her Griffin, she's one of the most dedicated dancers I've ever met."

"Yeah, that doesn't mean she has to treat me like shit," Clarke grumbles, softly.

"I don't know, you're her student I guess, you could reflect badly on her. You have to understand that there's maybe a job for every fifty dancers here, the competition is steep."

"Yeah, but Lexa is one of the best dancers in the country. She doesn't need to bust my balls about stupid pointe shoes or whatever."

"You could reflect badly on her though. Surely a dancer who can't train an amateur won't be able to dance well herself." Raven puts, reasonably and Clarke sucks on her bottom lip, glowering resentfully up into the rafters until Raven leans over, her face coming into view. "Listen, I know she's not the easiest person to get on with, trust me. But in all the years I've known her, she's never once wavered. She is so set on this I think she would do anything to achieve her dream."

"All the years?" Clarke echoes, a frown drawing her brows together as she shifts up onto one elbow, watching Raven with curious eyes. "How long have you worked here?"

Raven smiles a little dryly, sending her a look before turning her eyes back to the bright stage lights. "You don't miss much, do you?" Clarke remains silent, waiting for her to expand. "I was a dancer here, before I hurt myself," her hand gestures to her leg, needlessly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She pushes herself up, sitting beside the girl but Raven shakes her head, her ponytail whipping at the sides of her neck.

"Don't be, I had surgery on my back, it's kind of a miracle I can even walk," she casts a slight grin at Clarke, "anyway, I wasn't built for ballet. Not enough respect for authority, too many PB&Js." She waves the remains of her sandwich at the blonde and Clarke laughs softly.

"Yeah, that's kind of my problem too."

"The PB&Js?"

"Little bit," she grins, but then shakes her head, letting her head fall forward and her hair cover her eyes, just slightly. "Authority... I'm not the best with it."

"Just got to suck it up, little ballerina." Raven raises an eyebrow, "or don't give a shit, like me."

"It's... actually really hard not to want to impress her." The words are torn from her, resisting and irritable, but true. "I want to do this, y'know? I kind of _have to_."

"Well then," Raven pats her leg, offering her a smile. "Don't let some ballerina chase you away."

"Thanks Raven," she stands slowly. "You've been great." She hesitates for a moment, observing the girl for a long second before she speaks a little more slowly. "You should come out with me and some of my friends, some time, I think you'd like them. We're going to a concert in a few weeks if you want to join?"

The smile that touches Raven's lips is the most genuine one she's seen from the girl. "Yeah, that would be good thanks Griffin. Hey, make sure you swing by here if you need any more rallying speeches."

"You'll be my first stop," Clarke assures her.

\----

Communal showers are a downside of academy life. However, in her short amount of time here she's found a method which involves impeccable timing, positioning herself directly beside the entrance and showers of no longer than five minutes. It's late in the day and she's managed a solid four minutes with no interruptions, so Clarke is feeling suitably accomplished, pouring a dollop of conditioner into her hand and running it through her hair, leaning back for a moment.

Her bare skin touches the hot pipes that run along the walls and she yelps, jolting forward out the water with conditioner still running down her face and into her eyes and she stumbles, sliding on the slippery floor until she is stopped by something warm and wet and _moving._

"Oh my god!" She jerks back, pushing conditioner from her eyes to peer blearily through the room and _oh god_.

Of course she just had a naked collision with her mentor. Because the universe is cruel. Lexa is purposefully looking anywhere but her and Clarke realises abruptly that she is naked and Lexa is almost naked, just a small towel covering her, revealing only tanned skin and high collar bones and she is caught for a second by the water rivulets running off long, dark hair and down over her collarbone to where the towel hides her modesty.

_Fuck_.

She reaches for her towel, pulling it about her wet body despite the fact that her water is still on and it is getting soaked under the stream.

"Clarke," her strange, formal lexicon sounds even more stilted than usual, "I'm very sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Uh yeah," she's staring at Lexa's neck, she can feel it, but at least it's halfway better than staring at her collar bones and the dip of her cleavage. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

In her hands the towel, now heavy with water, slips and she grasps for it but the material fall away before she can grab it and she lets out a startled gasp, chasing the towel and pulling it closer to herself, her cheek flaming with embarrassment and she looks up just in time to see Lexa tearing her eyes up to the ceiling, staring at it very determinedly.

"Shit, sorry sorry," she apologises again and Lexa nods stiffly, neck taut with tension. "You... can you maybe..." she gesture to the exit, her sweet escape that Lexa is currently blocking and the taller girl steps away quickly, murmuring apologies.

"You, uh, you've still got stuff in your hair."

"Oh," she almost reaches for her hair, but her towel shifts threateningly. "I know I just... it doesn't matter."

"Clarke," there's something about Lexa's voice, an edge of pleading, that makes her stop a second time, turning reluctantly in the doorway to look at the girl, all long legs and wet skin, staring at her with light, unreadable eyes. "I wanted to apologise for earlier, in the studio. I overreacted, it was unfair of me."

"Yeah, no, it's fine." She's finding it ridiculously hard to concentrate, her eyes unable to stay still for more than a second. "Bye Lexa! Nice, uh, nice to see you."

_Far more of you than initially expected._

\----

She falls out of her turn, grappling with the music to make some sort of landing, find some sort of rhythm, but it is too changeable and she comes to a halt, grinding her teeth angrily as the orchestra continue to play. There are a few other dancers in the audience, watching her practice and waiting for their own turn and they look up with interest as she marches across the stage to peer down into the orchestra pit, glowering.

"Jaha!"

The conductor brings his musicians to a stop, looking up at her with an infuriatingly calm expression, eye brow raised questioningly. "What, Lexa?"

"You're all over the place! Keep time, for god's sake!"

Jaha puffs up like an angry bird, glaring at her, "I can't be controlled by numbers on a page, I go wherever the music takes me."

"While I'm sure that's wonderful for you, I can't keep to my counts if you're switching metres every ten seconds." Lexa snaps.

"Maybe you should calm down and _feel_ the music." He retorts, pursing his lips in a vaguely superior expression. "That's the problem with you ballerinas, you're all far too concerned with counts and beats and you forget about the purpose of the music."

"Do you know _anything_ about ballet?" Lexa can feel herself beginning to rile up, readying for an argument when a voice cuts through her words.

"Lexa."

She turns, catching sight of Indra stood waiting in the wings, her arms crossed, but her eyes are drawn back to Jaha when he laughs nastily.

"Run along to your teacher little girl, let the grown ups do their jobs."

" _Lexa_."

Frustration burning in her stomach, she turns to toss hurried words to Jaha, "this isn't over _sraka_." The Russian insult throws him off, a scowl crumpling his smug face and she smiles vindictively, turning on her heel to march across the stage to where Indra is waiting impatiently in the wings.

"Come," the woman says nothing more, indicating with a nod of her head that Lexa she follow as she turns away, immersing them quickly in the intricate, small hallways that run in a never ending maze through the back passages of the auditorium and the academy.

"Indra," Lexa hurries to keep pace with her long strides, skipping every few steps so she can speak hurried, apologetic words at Indra's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know I was unprofessional. But I swear Jaha has had it in for me since I _started_ at this school, he never counts my beats correctly when I practice and it's the most _irritating_ thing-"

"Hush," Indra holds up a hand to quiet her, shaking her head as she pauses to hold open a door into one of the larger corridors, ushering her through. "I did not come to talk about your petty squabble with Thelonious Jaha."

"It isn't petty," Lexa mutters, following her down the larger corridors at a slightly slower speed.

"I don't care." Indra tells her, bluntly, "there is something more serious I must tell you."

"What?" Lexa's eyes dart up to Indra's face, surprised to see that it is sombre and regretful and she feels her stomach jump with concern. "What's wrong, has something happened? Is it Anya?"

"No," Indra comes to a stop again, pulling a key from the bunch attached at her hip and unlocking her office door with quick, certain movements, gesturing again for Lexa to enter before her.

Indra's office is smaller than Anya's, though there is still an air of age to it and a bar and mirror stand in one corner. Bookshelves line the far wall, covered with pictures of Indra's former students and heavy tomes on the art of dance, all dusted pristinely. Lexa can't peel her eyes away from Indra however and she stays, stood stiffly in the middle of the room. Bad news has a way of creeping up on her, but in her many years receiving it she has developed something of a thick skin and she uses it now, hands clenching into fists at her sides as she waits for Indra's voice.

She's grateful that the woman doesn't insult her by insisting she sit, putting the buffer of a desk between them and instead stands before her, hands clasped behind her back and dark eyes catching Lexa's and keeping hold of them as she speaks.

"There's has been a problem with the showcase."

"What?" Lexa breathes out the word, disbelieve colouring it, making it fade into the dusky afternoon sun that streams in through the window. "The Joffrey showcase? The one in _two days_?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it's been cancelled."

"But... _why_?"

Indra sighs softly, "an illness has hit most of the company, a stomach flu. They can't possibly perform."

"Do they not have _switches_? _Understudies_?" Lexa is aware that her voice is reaching frantically higher, bordering on hysteria and Indra shoots her a warning look.

"It has hit everyone in the company, Lexa, both teams of dancers. It's just an unfortunate accident."

Her voice feels as if it has been ripped from her and she turns away, unable to let Indra see the devastation that surely shines through her eyes because a pain so real _can't_ just be hidden away. She draws a few, staggering breaths into her lungs, but when she finally speaks she is pleased that her voice doesn't shake and she sounds reasonably calm. "I've been practicing for months."

"The routine need not go to waste," Indra reassures her, evenly, "keep it fresh in your mind and it can be used for another performance."

"Of course," Lexa bites her lip, tries not to think of the thrill she felt at to be dancing under the Joffrey name, the excitement of working with real, trained ballerinas rather than the amateurs she has been saddled with her whole life. "The opportunity will come again."

"It will. You will be alright?" It's phrased as a statement but there is a twinge of uncertainty at the end that creates a tentative query and she pulls in another breath before turning, expression calm.

"Yes," she nods and glances at the clock on Indra's shelf. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for a session with Clarke."

"Of course."

Lexa can feel Indra's eyes on her as she walks away.

\----

"I am not running a kindergarten class here, Clarke, I shouldn't have to correct you on this!"

Clarke falls to the balls of her feet, letting out an angry huff of breath and turns to glare over her shoulder at where Lexa stands, just behind her, an equally irritated scowl painting her beautiful features.

"Well sorry, some of us haven't had training our _whole lives_." She snaps back and Lexa scowls at her, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take years of training know this, you just have to listen to me." She paces closer across the studio and Clarke almost shrinks back as two hands curl around her waist, fingers splaying across her ribs and hips. "The pas de deux is your final piece of work, it stands for everything you have learnt in this year and determines whether you can have a place at the academy."

"Yes, I _knew that_ , thank you."

Lexa tightens her grip just slightly, fingers biting into Clarke's skin through her leotard and she feels a shiver run through her, a slight tremble. Lexa is close and Clarke can feel the anger rolling off her in waves, crashing down around them. She has been like this since Clarke stepped into the studio to find her aggressively running through piece after piece, her motions sharp and stark with her fury and she had stared, taken aback by the strangeness of such elegance against such fury.

"Again." Is all Lexa demands and begins to count as Clarke pushes herself up onto pointe again, bending her body gracefully to the side and bringing her leg up until it is almost directly above the one holding her up. She can feel her legs begin to shake, muscles trembling before a hand move to grab her inner thigh, warm fingers spreading and grasping and Clarke lets out a harsh gasp, head shooting up to stare at Lexa in the mirror.

"What are you-"

"Up." Lexa pushes against her leg, "bring it straight." Her hand slips, sliding down her thigh just slightly and Clarke feels herself jolt in response, her breath coming heavily.

"Lexa _stop_."

"This must be done right," the girl insists but when her eyes rise to meet Clarke's in the mirror there is no denying the flush of her cheek and the darkness in her eyes, hungry and primal. "Alright, now down and do the same, but off pointe, keep your leg lower remember."

She does as instructed, bringing her foot down gratefully from pointe and raising her hands in the air to fan them around her face and suddenly she is hit with a waft of Lexa's scent by the shifting air around them, like pine and mint and the cool air of a mountain side, filled with lingering morning fog. She leans forward again, dropping her upper body further towards the floor as she brings her leg up again, letting it bend and curl back around Lexa.

Fingers catch her ankle and she suppresses a shiver at the touch as they manipulate her like a marionette, fingertips brushing a burning path over her knee and down her thigh until Lexa is sure she's positioned correctly. She can't miss the slight breath that escapes the woman behind her, shaky and harsh.

"Now step and step across the stage, together," their feet move in unison, two long paces across the studio and she slips into the next movement automatically, up onto her toes again to move her leg parallel to the floor. Her strength is beginning to waver again, sweat dripping off her as she trembles to stay still.

"Trust your partner," Lexa instructs her, firmly and her eyes flicker up to meet stony green, as pale as woodland water and she feels herself shift and fall, toppling from her pointe to the floor.

Lexa is caught off guard and just manages to catch her, softening her blow to the floor as she is brought to her knees, hands curling around her waist tightly as Clarke's slippery shoes slide her between Lexa's legs and to the floor with a deafening crash. Lexa is jerked by the movement, knees colliding with a harsh smack and legs spread across Clarke's hips, arms automatically going to the side to catch herself and when Clarke's eyes focus, stunned by the fall, soft pink lips, agape in shock, are only inches away. They breathe heavily for a moment and Clarke can feel the warmth of Lexa's breath dancing across her neck and exposed collarbones.

Lexa jolts away as if burned, tearing herself up and stalking across the studio before Clarke can even lever herself up from her place on the floor, watching her go.

"For _god's sake_ , can you do nothing right?" Lexa is raging, pacing around the perimeter of the room in angry, hastened steps and Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing herself up to her feet.

"Yeah, it was an accident. And I'm fine, by the way."

"This is no joke Clarke!" Lexa sounds strangely frantic, flustered. "We could have been seriously hurt, do you know what that means for a ballerina?"

"Well we weren't." Clarke shakes her head, raising her eyes to the heavens for a second before making her way to the bar to stretch away the cramping in her legs and feet.

"I could have lost _everything_."

"That's a risk you run every day just by dancing and you know it." She snaps, glaring at her fingers tight on the bar.

"Yes, but normally I'm not dancing around someone who is so _phenomenally_ incompetent that they could cause me such harm."

"I've learnt the first forty counts of the pas de deux in two days!" Clarke turns, preparing to round on her but she is startled to see Lexa only steps away, glaring at her. "And I haven't danced in _years_. Doesn't that deserve at least a little bit of praise?"

"Praise?" Lexa scoffs at the idea, "you're barely able to call yourself a dancer, Clarke. Your positions are sloppy, your feet are a mess and your hips refuse to turn out."

"Well apologies if I'm not little miss perfect," her rage pushes her onwards, clouding her head with heavy, angry fog. "Not all of us can have everything _handed to us on a platter_. Some of us have actually _struggled_."

"Don't you dare presume anything about me." Lexa's voice drops suddenly and she advances a step, as soft and predatory as a lioness stalking her prey. "You know nothing, Clarke Griffin."

"I know that someone who demands so much from other people can never have had to work for something," she retorts, challengingly and feels a tingle run through her when Lexa takes another step forward. She stumbles back on her feet, but her back is straight and her eyes are hard as ice as she stares down the dancer.

"As if you could understand the way I have worked and strived for what I have," Lexa spits, furiously, "you, who have surely been spoon fed everything. Let me guess, you grew up in the suburbs, with your perfect mother and your perfect father, maybe a sibling and your parents cooked you dinner and sent you off to prom with your lack lustre boyfriend. And you thought that escaping away to the city would make you edgy and cool, but actually you're living off a trust fund, in an apartment with a doorman." She scoffs and her eyes bore into Clarke's with the kind of raging fury that Clarke has never seen before. "Guess what princess, life isn't all rainbows and ponies for some of us."

" _Shut up_." She feels as if she is trembling, every bone in her body being shaken apart by the force of her anger and she grits her teeth, hands clenching into fists so tight that she can feel the half moons of her short nails pressing into her palms. "Just shut up."

"Have I hit a nerve?" Lexa hisses and she steps closer still, so that their bodies are pressed close and Clarke can feel lithe muscles and soft curves through her leotard, her breathing making her breasts heave angrily. She's sure she doesn't miss the way Lexa's eyes flicker down. "Have I revealed a damning truth?"

"Lexa, I swear to god if you don't shut the _fuck_ up-"

"You'll what, go running to daddy?" Lexa raises a challenging eyebrow and Clarke can't help herself, her hand rises up to slap hard against Lexa's cheek, the sound ringing through the studio and Lexa gapes at her for just a second until Clarke rises up on her toes, hands tangling in dark hair to crash their lips together.

The force of it sends Lexa staggering backwards and she only just manages to stay on her feel, hands rising to Clarke's back to claw at her leotard with hard, unforgiving fingers. She grunts softly below Clarke, lips struggling for control and there is a need, dark and unseen, in the way that she grabs at Clarke, the movement of her lips. Beneath her, Lexa's mouth opens to gasp for air and Clarke takes the chance to press her teeth into her lower lip, biting firmly and her body sings at the soft grunt Lexa lets out. One of Lexa's hands tracks the length of her spine to tangle in her hair and tug angrily in return and Clarke is pulled away by the motion, hesitating for just a second, inches away from the flushed girl, green eyes almost black with the size of her pupils.

She steps away, pushing a little at Lexa's chest to disentangle herself and turns on her heel, stomping across the studio to grab her bag.

\----

Only under the heat of the shower does she allow herself to reflect on those moments. The room is foggy, but she is alone and the hour is late, so she doesn't expect to be disturbed. Her face is turned into the shower, long blonde hair darkened by the water and she lets the pounding spray batter against tender cheeks and swollen lips, as if it can wash away the memory of Lexa's touch.

But her head is filled, consumed by the thought of their encounter and she can feel her pulse still hammering in her chest, the tingle running over her skin and the all too familiar twist of desire deep in her stomach. It's only natural, she argues to herself, Lexa is a beautiful girl and Clarke is attracted to beautiful girls. Plus the heat of their shared rage, of their building irritation is enough to make anyone flustered and that is how she finds herself falling back against the tiled wall, her hand sliding slowly down her body to slip through wet heat and arch her back.

Lexa had tasted like steel and mint and lust and it lingers in Clarke's mouth, as phantom fingers roam her back and she feels her eyes flicker shut as her fingers speed.

Footsteps startle her from her haze and she feels a whine of irritation escape her as she tears her own hand away, but it is too late as the figure emerges from the steam and she feels her stomach sink.

She would recognise that long dark hair and smooth skin anywhere.

This time, however, Lexa is naked. Clarke's eyes roam freely, unable to stop herself from drinking the girl in. Her hungry gaze ravages down the slope of two pert breasts, a flat stomach and the juncture of her legs, where a small patch of sparse dark hair grows and when Lexa turns to start to shower directly beside her own she traces the curve of her ass.

"I would ask you to try not to stare, but it seems a fruitless request." Lexa's voice is low, dark and Clarke feels her jaw stiffen.

"You were out of line today."

"As were you," Lexa turns to look at her and takes a slight step closer. "You need to learn to respect me."

"You need to give me a reason to." She tilts up her chin, defiantly and suddenly hands are back in her hair and they are staggering backwards, skin pressing against skin, the curve and dip of their bodies moulding against other.

Clarke's lips are caught in a terrifying kiss and her feet stumble, desperately trying to grab a support until her back slams into the wall and hot, angry lips tear at each other.

Their hands wander freely and they seem to have given each other a free pass to explore as they will because a hand slides down from her hair to skate over her collarbones and curve over the arc of her breast. Clarke has to gasp, has to pull away from their kiss to arch her back and press herself up against the touch as a thumb brushes across the nipple, watching it harden and pebble.

Teeth nip and lips suck against fragile skin as her own hands drop to grasp Lexa's ass, pulling her forward with a jolt until a taut thigh is pressed between her legs.

"I'm not sorry," she mutters against Lexa's hairline as the girl descends down her body and hisses when sharp teeth bite at the tender skin over her collarbone.

"Neither am I." She can feel the brush of lips as Lexa speaks, but before she can process it a hand is sinking down, travelling along her stomach to curl briefly in short pubic hair and tug, making her gasp out as the pads of fingers brush against her.

There is a moment of exploration, of uncertainty as Clarke arches and fights for breath and expert fingers take a moment to learn her body, before lips attach themselves to her nipple and bite and she feels herself cant her hips into Lexa's waiting hand.

" _Clarke_ ," teeth brush against her and the smile can be heard in the words, "you were waiting for this."

A thumb brushes against her clit, just once and a strangled, angry noise escapes her as she bucks, chasing the feeling.

Lexa grunts in irritation and a strong forearm appears, slamming her hips back into the wall and pinning them there, keeping her still as fingers continue their idle journey through her folds and she struggles, hands knotting in Lexa's hair to pull, forcing her upwards so that she can press their lips together.

For a moment she is strong, for a moment she is in control, but then fingers glance over the bundled nerves again and she crumbles, gasping, small whimpering noises escaping her as she yearns for the return of Lexa's touch.

"For _fucks sake_ ," the words choke her, "get _on with it_."

She feels Lexa laugh once, feels the shake of her wet body and the soft expulsion of air against her cheek, before a long finger does as she says and slips inside of her.

Her back arches so much that only her head, thrown back against the tile, keeps her standing and her whole body shivers, trembling fingers grasping to find some sort of anchor on Lexa's slick skin as she pushes and her thumb continues to brush Clarke's clit.

Fingers curl and she bursts with expletives and _Lexa Lexa Lexa._

It takes only a few minutes before she comes apart, embarrassingly quickly, a high, strangled cry escaping her and her nails digging into Lexa's back, marking her as she slowly coaxes Clarke down from her plateau, holding her wavering body up for support for a moment, before she slowly pulls away.

Cobalt blue meets green so soft it could be grey and Clarke sees only a hint of regret in Lexa's eyes before the girl turns and marches out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops? let me know your thoughts below or over on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Octavia is the fucking boss, basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of the comments and kudos, you lovely people keep me at my keyboard!

"You look like shit." Is the first thing that Octavia says to her when she walks through the coffee shop door that afternoon.

"Yeah, thanks," she eyes the girl behind the counter with some distaste, "the customer service thing isn't really improving then?"

"Hey, I just speak the truth." Octavia shrugs as she turns to reach up high for a coffee cup, her shirt riding up to expose a strip of pale skin. She flicks a piece of dark hair out of her eyes and begins making Clarke's drink with quick fingers. "They call me the coffee oracle around here."

"Oracles see the future," Clarke drops forward, letting her elbows hit the counter as she runs tired fingers over her eyes.

"Yeah, and I _predict_ that you're going to get a smack in the face if you don't stop being a smartass." Octavia leans across to peer at her from behind the grumbling machines, frowning a little. "For real though, you kind of look like shit. Everything alright?"

She hesitates, considering her words for a moment; Octavia is almost impossible to lie to and she feels as if she could burst if she doesn't talk to someone soon, so she lets out a soft sigh and says, slowly. "You know... the project I'm working on?"

"The one that Kane promised will be your big break?" Octavia arches a sceptical eyebrow. Her dislike for Clarke's boss is not a new subject and Clarke is in no mood to rehash it, so she just nods easily.

"Well, it's at a ballet academy. I'm kind of doing an inside scoop."

"A ballet academy?" Octavia repeats, popping the lid onto her drink and sliding it across the counter and Clarke can hear the laughter in her voice, bending to dig in her purse for spare change so the girl can't see the blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh my god, are you _dancing_?" At Clarke's reluctant nod, Octavia lets out a loud snort. " _You_ are doing _ballet_."

"I'm not that bad," she mutters, defensively, pushing the change in Octavia's direction in hopes of distracting her. "I did it when I was a kid."

"Oh please," Octavia reaches up and feigns wiping a tear from beneath her eye. "I just can't imagine you in the leotards and the tights with your hair all up."

Clarke's fingers curl around her drink and she rolls her eyes, "okay, well it's happening so can you hurry up and have your laugh because that is not the issue here."

"Sorry, but this is too good to just brush over."

"Hey!" Octavia's boss, tall and grumpy, with a harsh, sardonic twist to his voice, stands at the end of the counter, his arms crossed. "I'm not _paying you_ to have a mother's hour over here."

"Please Murphy," Octavia scoffs, glaring at him. "You're barely paying me! And there's no one else waiting."

"I don't give a shit, this is a _job_ Octavia; I put up with enough of your bullshit." Murphy grumbles, irritably and Octavia tosses him a sarcastic smile, filled with bitterness.

"Only because I make the best coffee in the city, jackass."

"Oh really," he cocks an eyebrow, jerking a thumb at the blackboards behind the counter. "Because I don't see your name above the place. Now get back to work."

"I'm taking my break," Octavia snaps and tugs at the apron around her waist, throwing it at him and stalking out around the counter to make her way across the coffee shop, where a cluster of comfortable couches sit around a low table, littered with water rings.

"Octavia!" He shouts after her, "You're _this far away_ from being out on your ass!"

"Quit riding my dick, Murphy." She fires back. None of the patrons even stir at the commotion, far too used to their antics to bother and Clarke feels a smile twitch at her lips.

"Quit riding my dick?" She echoes, watching as Octavia throws herself down on an armchair, kicking her legs up over one of the arms to look at her.

"Not my best comeback." She admits, idly, stealing Clarke's drink off the table to take a sip as the blonde sits. "I do make damn good coffee though."

"How long are you actually going to put up with him? Or more accurately, how much longer is _he_ going to put up with _you_?"

"I just have to sign a record deal," Octavia waves her hand, letting her head fall back to look at Clarke, upside down. "It'll be any day now."

"You're excited for the concert next week?" Clarke slips off her flats and brings her feet up to rest beneath her, toes rubbing against the old, crushed velvet. Her fingers go down to massage absently at her aching arches, thumbs rubbing in smooth circles in an effort to alleviate the tension.

"Hell yeah, we're going to be awesome," Octavia strums at an imaginary guitar for a second and the smile on Clarke's face widens.

"That reminds me, I invited someone to come with us, is that okay?"

"Someone?" Octavia turns to look at her properly, wiggling her eyebrows absurdly. "Someone _special_?"

"Jesus, no, just a girl I know from the ballet school."

"A ballerina?" Octavia frowns, "really?"

"No, she's a technician actually." Clarke retorts, shaking her head.

"Right, that's cool." Octavia shrugs, continuing quickly, "Is she your big issue?"

"Not... exactly," she runs a hand through her hair, tugging on the long strands, still a little damp and curled from her earlier shower. Just thinking about it makes her flush, heat rising to her cheeks and she ducks her head hurriedly, but not quickly enough.

"Oh my _god_ , you're blushing! Spill!"

"I... have this mentor-"

"And you're in love with her." Octavia cuts through eagerly and Clarke glowers at her until she sits further back in her chair, hands raised in surrender. "Sorry, sorry."

"She's actually... _infuriating_. She's the most obnoxious, annoying person I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. She's so up her own ass it's a wonder anyone can hear her speak, her voice should be so muffled." Octavia wrinkles her nose at the lame analogy, but says nothing as Clarke continues. "I just _hate her_ and she hates me and it's quickly becoming the worst decision of my life to actually do this, but I need to and-"

"You fucked her."

Clarke falls abruptly silent, mouth dropping open as she gapes at Octavia, struggling for words. "I- how did you-"

"Oh my god!" Octavia's mouth opens in a wide, shocked burst of laughter and she howls, "I was _joking_ holy shit!"

Her neck is tingling with heat, ears and cheeks tinged with red and she buries her head in her hands, letting out a long groan as Octavia almost convulses with laughter beside her, clutching her stomach like a cartoon character.

"I can't believe it, you actually _did it_?"

"Well," her voice is low, her head still buried in her hands. "I guess specifically _she_ fucked _me_."

"Oh shit, Clarke this is hysterical, you have to see that."

"Strangely enough," she rips her head up to growl in her friend's direction. "I'm failing to see how this is anything less than a disaster."

"Oh _please_ ," Octavia rolls her eyes, "did she want it? Did you want it?"

"Well... yeah I mean she came at me so I have to guess she wanted it." She can feel her cheeks flushing again and wonders whether she might burst the blood vessels in her face. "And... she's hot. I wasn't exactly fighting her on it, if you know what I mean."

"Well then," Octavia shrugs, as if it settles the matter. "What's the problem?"

"Oh I don't know," Octavia raises an eyebrow at the sarcasm lacing her voice, "Probably the fact that she is a colossal bitch and we have to _work together_ after this. I have way too much shit on my plate at the moment Octavia, you know I can't deal with this."

"What's her name?" Octavia twirls a piece of hair around her fingers, "we get some girls from the ballet place in here sometimes, maybe I've written her name on a skinny latte."

"Lexa Woods, Alexandra." Clarke purses her lips. "Might go by _biggest bitch in the universe_."

"No, I'd remember that one," Octavia jokes, but she's distracted, pushing herself up a little in her seat to peer around the room. "But Lexa is a pretty rare name, there's a girl who comes in here _all the time_ , orders a green tea and just sits- oh, there she is!" She gestures and Clarke's heart sinks as she turns in her seat to look across the cafe to the window seat.

Lexa sits, her long hair still wet and braided neatly down her back. She's in shorts and a baggy sweater, her back to the window and a heavy book in her lap. She looks engrossed and strangely small, dwarfed by the armchair she sits in.

" _Shit_! That's her." She slumps down in her seat as far as she can.

"Her?" Octavia raises an eyebrow, nodding, "I guess she's hot Clarkie, but she doesn't come across as that much of a bitch. She's just quiet."

"Could you _shut up_ please, she's going to notice us."

"Ah, heads up," Octavia wrinkles her nose guiltily, "she already has."

Unbidden, Clarke's head snaps around to stare at the girl and steely green eyes meet hers, wide and blinking at her before Lexa stands in a hurry, reaching to grab her bag and step swiftly around the table in front of her, making a beeline for the exit.

"Fuck, do you think she heard?"

"Probably," Octavia admits, nodding her head towards Lexa's vacant spot. "She forgot her book."

"I have to talk to her," Clarke launches herself out of her seat, taking the few quick paces to grab Lexa's book before hurrying from the door. It slams with a ring of the bell behind her and she is out on the sun soaked streets, pausing to look back and forth before she spots a dark head of hair stood by the bus stop a few metres away.

Lexa is very determinedly not looking her way, her eyes fixed straight ahead but Clarke can see the way that her hands are playing with one another, clasped in front of her and she flushes at the thought of where those hands have been. Her approach is slow, careful, as if Lexa could bolt at any second and the girl doesn't look at her until Clark comes to a stop right beside her, clearing her throat softly.

"Um, hi."

"Clarke," Lexa's eyes flicker to her briefly, before darting to her feet and Clarke can see the two pink spots on her cheeks.

"You forgot your book?" It sounds more like question than anything else, but she holds it out regardless, eyes falling to the leather bound cover. Her brows crease a little even as Lexa's eyes widen and she reaches out, taking it from her hands.

"Thank you, I didn't realise."

"It looks old," the words escape her without her permission and she fumbles for something else to say, "and um... the language?"

"Russian," Lexa provides, after a momentary pause.

"Oh, cool."

The silence is stifling.

Clarke has no reason to remain, her flimsy excuse for following Lexa from the cafe is long gone and now she just lingers, standing beside the girl as she waits for a bus and trying not to think about the taste of her lips and the feel of her hands and the sound of her moans.

"How much did you hear?" She blurts the words, as if desperate to overpower her own noisy thoughts, but sees Lexa stiffen beside her, her knuckles going white around the book.

"Enough." Lexa bites out finally, pressing her lips together immediately after, as if she regrets speaking.

"I'm sorry." Clarke speaks truthfully, her eyes creasing slightly, "you weren't meant to."

"Clearly." Lexa cuts in and Clarke hesitates for a second before continuing, her voice only shaking a little.

"I was just mad and I needed to talk to someone."

"Yeah, well," Lexa's eyes flit back to her feet again and Clarke sees her shoulders curl in a little on themselves, "I get it."

"We can't let this be awkward," she states, simply, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her cut off jeans. "We just can't."

"Agreed," Lexa swallows, just slightly, her throat bobbing and her eyes still refuse to meet Clarke's. "It would be unprofessional. I'm very sorry if our... encounter upset you. I was under the impression that, uh," she stumbles over her words, clearly nervous and Clarke feels a flash of affection for the awkward girl that hides behind the harsh exterior.

"I did want it," she cuts through, saving Lexa the embarrassment and when wide eyes look up to meet hers, she catches them, keeps them steady. "Did you?"

"Yes," she breathes the word, faintly and it's Clarke's turn to swallow, nodding once.

"Okay so... we both wanted it and we won't let it be awkward."

There's a screech and the roar of an engine as a bus pulls up beside them and Lexa glances up at it, saying softly. "This is mine."

"Sure, cool, um," she quiets herself, watching as the doors open with a huff and Lexa turns to raise a hand in her direction in a lame attempt at a wave.

"Goodbye Clarke, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," she offers a wavering smile, "see you, Lexa."

\----

"I've told you, she's prickly, it's hard to get close to her."

Kane's irritated sigh comes crackling down the phone, his grunt audible. "Griffin, this piece was meant to be a week long tops, now you're telling me you'll need two at the least?" Clarke flinches away from the phone when she hears him slam down what sounds like a pile of papers, "what the _hell_ is wrong with you, Clarke? I thought were you _good_ with people."

"Lexa's different!" The words come out too loudly and one of the passing ballerinas turns to look at her strangely. A flush creeps up her cheeks and she ducks her head, lowering her voice as she continues, "she's closed off, I don't think she has _any_ friends."

"So take her to coffee! Go to a spa, I don't give a shit!"

"She doesn't drink coffee," she tells him lamely and hurries on before he can start yelling again. "But listen, I'm doing the ground work on this okay? You wanted some interview style thing with her but she was never going to reveal much in one coffee trip, you know that. I'm going to become her, uh, best friend and I'm going to find out what she's hiding and then you're going to have the exclusive scoop, understand?" Her phone is flashing warningly at her, the battery about two seconds away from cutting out and she chews on her lip nervously.

There's a moment of silence as Kane considers her offer and she can hear him tapping his pen thoughtfully against his teeth. Her breath is caught, waiting for his response and it releases in a relieved huff when he says, finally. "Alright, I'll give you this one Griffin. But I want regular updates, understand? So I know you're on track."

"Okay, you got it." Footsteps sound near her and she senses a figure stood near, looking up to see the janitor eyeing her. "Um, hold on a second. Yes?"

"We're locking up," the guys has a thick roll of keys in his hand and he jangles it expectantly, nodding his head across the deserted foyer to the main entrance and Clarke flushes just slightly, smiling apologetically.

"Right, sorry." She swings her bag over her shoulder and talks back into the phone again. "I have to go, Kane, but I'll update you every other day, I promise."

"You'd better, Griffin."

The second she steps outside she feels the ripple of cool air against her arms and the drip of raindrops, falling from the slight ledge that protected the main entrance. It's raining heavily, cool summer sheets of water washing over the parking lot, so heavy that the droplets bounce against the asphalt and she pauses, watching the janitor lock up as she tries to work out the fastest, driest way to get to her car. He tips his head at her when he's done and starts off marching across the parking lot and Clarke lets out a resigned sigh and wraps her hands around her bear arms, rubbing at the cool skin, where goosebumps rise against her flesh, and sets out over the sodden ground.

Her quick pace gets her to her car in only a few minutes, but the downpour is so horrendous that she is soaked in seconds, shirt clinging to her skin and hair hanging in drenched dreadlocks around her face as she rummages through her bag, cursing softly, to try and find her keys.

"They were here," she's talking to herself softly, muttering, but no one is around to hear her, so it doesn't seem to matter, until a voice sounds over the splatter of raindrops.

"Clarke?"

She startles so much she almost falls onto the hood of her car, spinning to peer through the rain at the approaching figure.

Lexa is holding a dark umbrella high above her head and is, unsurprisingly, bone dry with not a hair out of place. She looks down at Clarke with surprise, raising her eyebrows curiously as she covers the few steps between them and Clarke can't help but be grateful when she holds out her umbrella, sharing the shelter.

"What's wrong?" Lexa's eyes her, uncertain and the concern in her voice seems tentative, "you seem distressed... and you're very wet."

"Yeah, I knew that, thanks," Clarke rolls her eyes, just slightly, but goes back to scrabbling through her bag. "I'm just trying to find my car keys, and then I'll be out of here. I wasn't anticipating a rain storm; it _is_ the middle of the summer for god's sake."

"It was on the forecast," Lexa points out, unhelpfully. "You should have brought a jacket."

The word makes something click, deep in her memory, and she freezes for a second, eyes widening as realisation crashes through her like a wave, her face falling with despair as she abandons her bag and turns to stare at the building. " _Shit_. Shit! I did bring a jacket and I left it in the studio oh _fuck_!" Her eyes swivel through the parking lot, looking for any sign of the janitor, but there is no one left but her blue car and a dark one across the lot. "Oh my god," she buries her head in her hands, "it had my wallet and my car and house keys in it, fuck fuck _fuck_."

Lexa watches her, obviously uncomfortable, as she turns and slams a furious fist against the roof of her car, letting out something close to a scream in frustration.

"That is certainly unfortunate," she offers, at last and when Clarke tosses her nothing but a glare, she hesitates and says, her voice slightly stilted. "You could... ride with me if you want?"

"Ride with you?" Clarke turns to frown at her, perplexed brows creasing, "but you... don't have a car, I saw you getting the bus the other day."

To her surprise, two dark spots appear on Lexa's cheeks and she seems a little awkward as she explains, "well it's expensive to run and I, uh, I don't like driving in the city." She hurries to continue, as if anticipating Clarke's remarks, "Plus I saw that it was going to rain today and planned accordingly," her raised eyebrows sweep over Clarke's damp figure, "as you should consider doing in the future."

Clarke pushes down the flood of irritation that seeps through her at the words, pressing her lips together and running a hand self consciously over the dripping tendrils of her hair, "a ride would be great, thank you."

Lexa nods once, a stiff bow of her head in recognition and starts across the parking lot, the umbrella still held out over Clarke's head. Her car is only a few paces away, dark and meticulously cleaned and Clarke's eyes dance back to her own slightly shabby vehicle, humiliation tinting her cheeks red. Lexa pauses beside the car and, to Clarke's surprise, pulls open the passenger door, gesturing for her to climb in.

"Oh, thanks," she feels a little bad for dripping all over the pristine leather interior, but there's not a whole lot that she can do as she dumps her bag in the foot hold and glances at her reflection in the wing mirror, cringing when she sees the dark eyeliner running down her cheeks and the hair plastered to her forehead.

Hurried hands fall away from her face and she jerks back into her seat when the driver's door opens and Lexa slips easily inside, buckling her seatbelt. Green eyes flicker expectantly over to Clarke and the blonde follows her lead, watching as Lexa nods in approval and starts the engine.

"Thanks for this," she speaks after a few painful moments of silence, watching the way that Lexa's eyes crease in concentration, moving smoothly through the city traffic.

"You've already said that," Lexa points out and Clarke deflates, nodding once.

"Yeah, guess I have."

"But it's fine," Lexa's eyes are unexpectedly soft when they shoot over to meet Clarke's momentarily. "I wouldn't have left you in the rain."

"Well thank god you came over or I would have been fucked," Clarke lets out a tremulous laugh, shaking her head.

Lexa's lips lift a little in amusement, but she just nods. "Where would you like me to take you?"

"Well," Clarke's hands go up to her sodden hair and she begins to pull it up into a loose bun as she speaks, "my landlord shuts up shop after four and the only copy of my keys is in my jacket pocket, so I guess I'd better try one of my friends, if that's okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Lexa reassures her, eyes darting to her. "You are going to see your friend Octavia?"

"Yeah," Clarke blinks, surprised, before understanding dawns. "Oh, I guess you know her from the coffee shop right?"

Lexa nods, her voice quiet when she speaks, "she likes to talk as she makes my drink." The smirk that quirks her lips upwards is a foreign entity, "she tells me she makes the best coffee in the city, but I do not drink it."

"No, she said you always have, um, green tea." She can't bear to look at the girl beside her as she talks, her eyes instead wandering to the rain soaked windows. "It's left here." Clarke clears her throat just slightly. "So I guess I should have asked you to get tea with me on that first day, huh?"

"It would have been preferable." Lexa admits, "but I still would not have gone with you."

"Why not?" Clarke's eyes crease, confused and Lexa struggles over her words for a moment, grasping for the right ones until she says, at last.

"I am not a very... open person. Forming friendships does not come easily to me."

"Is that what we are now?" They come to a stop at a red light and Lexa's uncertain gaze meets hers for just a moment. "Friends?"

Soft lips twitch up into a smile that is almost wry, but there's conflict in the gentled green eyes that meet hers. "I don't know what we are now, Clarke."

A silence settles between them, broken only by Clarke's occasional directions and when Lexa comes to a stop beside the tall apartment building Octavia calls home, Clarke is glad to escape the car.

"Well, this is it," she pauses, fingers brushing over the handle, hesitating for a moment. "Thanks again."

"You're very welcome," Lexa inclines her head a little, in a motion that seems created to distance herself from Clarke, pushing a gap between them that is abruptly broached by green eyes, edged with tenderness, flickering up, "I will see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." The words slip out before she can stop them and Lexa's startled expression is enough to push her from the car, stumbling out and across the sidewalk, through the rain. She pauses at the intercom, pushing herself into the tiny shelter of the doorway to press at the buzzer beside Octavia's name, scrawled on a scrap of paper in capital letters.

No answer comes from the apartment again and she shifts impatiently pressing again, stabbing her finger into the plastic with jerky movements as she digs in her pocket to try and find her phone. The screen remains an ominous black when she presses the central button and she remembers with a growing sense of dread the flashing battery sign.

" _Fuck_ , Octavia where are you?" The words are drowned by the sound of the rain and though she knows it's useless now, she presses the buzzer a few more times, slamming down on it hard in her irritation.

Turning, she peers through the rain and jolts when she sees the black car, still idling by the sidewalk. It's tempting to stay where she is, embarrassment weighing like heavy stones in her shoes, but it also seems pointless and more than a little ridiculous, so she forces herself back out into the rain again, pacing across the sidewalk to open the car door, leaning in a little to speak to Lexa.

"She's not in."

Lexa's brows crease in concern and she nods, to the passenger seat. "Get in, you'll become ill if you stay out in the rain."

"Thanks," she slides into the seat again, glad to get out of the downpour and her eyes flicker to Lexa, shifting awkwardly in her seat.

"Can you call her?"

"Dead phone," she waves the device, as if it's evidence and Lexa arches an eyebrow but fortunately says nothing.

"Is there anywhere else you can go?"

"I don't know," she rubs a hand over her eyes, grunting a little, "Monty and Jasper are both working late, Bellamy probably has his girlfriend around."

"What about family?"

"No."

The word is so sharp that Lexa's eyes shoot over to her, surprise shifting to something close to sympathy, tinged with recognition. "Okay," she doesn't press the matter and Clarke is suddenly thankful, letting her head fall back against the seat.

"This is officially the worst day."

"Stay with me," the offer comes out rushed, hurried and when her eyes widen, flickering to Lexa she seems as if she regrets them for a second. Her tongue darts out nervously over her teeth and she stares straight ahead, as if she can't bear to look at Clarke in this moment. "You can stay with me if you want."

"Thanks," she blinks, processing the invitation slowly. It's strange and uncomfortable but it's the only real option she has and she hesitates for a moment before nodding. "That... would be good."

"Alright." Lexa nods, a sharp upwards jerk of her head and her shoulders seem stiff and tense as she starts the engine again.

"Alright," Clarke echoes softly and shifts down in the seat a little, her heart sinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I just started a new job, so things snowballed faster than I expected in this last week or so. Look out for my new multi chap fic which I'll post on Saturday, to celebrate my birthday! Updates, cuddles and general merriment can be found over @onemilliongoldstars on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa is a reluctant cat owner and they find their courage in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! beta'ed by @indragram who literally picks up all of my sober mistakes even when editting tipsily (is that a word?)

Lexa's apartment is about as far from what she expected as possible. All that Clarke knows about Lexa had pointed to high ceilings, glass and chrome and windows that looked out on a beautiful view of the city, counter tops bare of any trinkets apart from some neatly stacked magazines. Somehow, she'd imagined a kitchen stocked only with mountains of green tea and a maid service.

What greets her is very different. They have to ascend up three flights of rickety stairs to get the apartment and Lexa pauses, fumbling with the two locks on her door before pushing it open and gesturing Clarke inside ahead of her. The apartment itself is dark until Lexa flickers on the light overhead, illuminating a small, cosy room. The kitchen and living room merge into one another, although the living room is made up of only a comfortable arm chair, dragged close to the window and covered by a soft blanket, and an old couch, pushed until it is flush against the counter that divides the kitchen from the living area. The rest of the space is taken up by a makeshift bar and a mirror, which makes Clarke's lips twitch upwards into a slight smile.

The kitchen is small and clean, but there is a bowl of fruit near the door and along the window ledge, above the sink, sit at least four old jars, filled with random collections of cut flowers. She paces slowly closer, reaching out to delicately handle the head of a wilted rose and Lexa's voice comes from behind her, strangely tender.

"I should really throw it out, it's pretty much dead but... it's pretty don't you think?" Clarke turns to look at her, eyes creasing a little in surprise at the softness of her gaze. "The colours," she elaborates, heat rising to her cheeks at Clarke's unabashed stare. "Anyway," she clears her throat self consciously, stepping away. "Would you like a drink or anything?"

"I could use a strong one," Clarke admits, lightly and she's surprised when Lexa smirks just slightly at her words, returning it with a smile. "But a shower right now would actually be amazing."

"Oh, of course." Lexa ushers her through to the bathroom, rummaging high in a cupboard to pass her a warm, folded towel. ‘Just call if you need anything,’ are her parting words as she lets the door swing shut, and Clarke pauses for a moment, turning to eye the room unashamedly.

It's small, which is unsurprising, but there is a flowering orchid on the counter and her moisturisers and creams are lined up neatly on a small shelf, beside tape and plasters and bandages. What holds her gaze, however, is the collection of pictures, evidently cut from newspapers and magazines, that surround the mirror. She recognises a few of the faces, one of whom is Anya, the woman who interviewed her for the place at the academy. She steps closer and raises a hand, running the pads of her fingers over the curling tape that holds the pictures in place. Some look old and battered, and she wonders if they'd made the journey to this apartment with Lexa from her childhood home.

She showers quickly. It's not like she has anything really left to hide from Lexa, but her eyes still dart warily to the bathroom door every few seconds, as though the girl will come bursting in; but no one appears and the hot warm sends a shudder running through her chilled body, a loud moan escaping her lips before she can stop it.

She's wrapped up in the fluffy towel and using another to dry her hair, looking at the damp clothes on the floor with distaste when a tentative knock comes from the door.

Lexa is holding out a pile of clothes when she opens it, eyes averted to the corridor.

"I thought you might like something warm to wear." Her explanation is awkward and stilted, but her efforts at courtesy are strangely endearing, and Clarke accepts the warm jumper and leggings with a smile.

When she emerges, she finds Lexa leaning against one of the counters, flicking through a newspaper and sipping tea from a mug with cats on it, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and Clarke pauses, looking at her with a soft smile that she doesn't even realise is there until she has to school it under Lexa's sudden gaze.

"Clarke," She stands straighter and Clarke takes it as an invitation to enter, stepping closer as Lexa reaches into a drawer and slides a few take out menus to her across the counter. "I'm afraid my cooking skills are not brilliant." She admits with a slightly laugh, and Clarke raises an eyebrow.

"You can't cook?" She asks, eyes darting over the menus before flickering back to Lexa with a teasing smile. "I thought you could do everything."

"Almost everything," Lexa shrugs, but there's a smile clinging to the edges of her lips and she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're okay with eating this stuff? It can't be part of your strict dancer diet." Clarke wrinkles her nose a little.

"Well, I don't eat from them often." Lexa shrugs and, unexpectedly, shifts herself upwards to sit on the counter, swinging her legs. "There's a deli down the street that does good salads, I tend to eat those." She blinks when she notices Clarke's blatant staring, looking down at her own position, before blushing, pushing herself up again. "Sorry, that's impolite."

"No, no," Her hand reaches out and touches Lexa's knee, stilling her, and Lexa almost jolts away from the touch, her whole body freezing. There is a moment of silence, but Clarke remains resolutely where she is, waiting for Lexa to slowly relax before she says, "It's nice actually to see you like that. You're... human."

"Of course I am," Lexa's eyes crease together and Clarke hurries to clarify.

"I mean... you're like a normal person. You always seem so put together - so ‘with it’. I was just... surprised to see you so carefree."

Lexa just nods, clearly uncomfortable and Clarke steps away, letting her hand fall heavily back against her thigh momentarily, before raising it and rubbing at the back of her neck.

"So you just eat pre-made salads and take out?" She raises an eyebrow when Lexa shrugs.

"I suppose so."

"That's terrible," Clarke scolds her, shaking her head with pursed lips, "You must have some food in." She squats, digging through Lexa's practically bare cupboards.

"What are you doing?" She hears the soft thud of feet landing against the linoleum floor and Lexa's voice, just brushing against alarm.

"I'm cooking for you." Clarke informs her, turning to peer up at the other girl from beneath her arm.

"You don't have to do that."

"No but I want to," she smiles again, "Come on Lexa, tell me you don't want a home cooked meal. Tell me and mean it."

Lexa can't respond.

\----

"It's not going to go anywhere, you know."

She jolts, looking up in surprise from her plate to see Clarke watching her, amusement dancing in her eyes. Her gaze flickers down from her own, almost empty plate to Clarke's, which remains half full and she flushes a little.

"Sorry," She says, abashed, but scoops the last mouthful up onto her fork, letting the flavours roll around her mouth, savouring them until every morsel is gone and she is left with a mournfully bare plate.

"I can make more, if you want?" Clarke is still watching her, her fork suspended above the plate of noodles and Lexa shakes her head quickly, placing her plate on the floor beside her and curling her legs up beneath herself on the worn old arm chair.

"No, but thank you." Her hand fall to her stomach, smiling weakly across the room, "One more bite and I'll burst. You cook exceptionally well, Clarke."

The blonde ducks her head, a curled tendril of her hair falling against her cheek and Lexa's fingers twitch unexpectedly to push it away before she curls her hand into a fist. "It's just stir fry," Clarke shakes her head. "It's so easy, Lexa."

"Regardless," She shrugs and lets an easy silence settle between them.

It is broken moments later by a familiar tapping and scratching on the window beside her and Clarke looks up curiously, peering across the room with widened eyes as Lexa lets out a soft sigh and follows her gaze.

"A cat!" Clarke sounds delighted from behind her and Lexa reaches over to pull up the window for the small, mangy tabby who is pawing at it, yowling to be let in. "Is he yours?" She immediately abandons her food, setting it to her side on the couch so that she can lean forward and coo at the cat who stalks in, bristling a little from the rain.

"No," Lexa rolls her eyes, pushing the stiff window back down with a slight tug. "He's just a stray, I let him in once and now he comes back here quite a lot."

"He's so lovely," Clarke holds out a hand, rubbing her fingers together to urge him closer and the cat eyes her strangely for a second before deigning to wander over and brush against her legs. "Hello baby," Clarke reaches out blindly and plucks a noodle from her plate, feeding it to him as she scratches at the top of his head. "His ear," she fingers the torn skin gently, eyes flickering up to meet Lexa's on concern.

"He's been like that for as long as I remember," Lexa watches as the cat grows tired of Clarke's enthusiastic affections and paces back across the small room towards her. "Must have lost it in a fight." The cat jumps up easily, pawing at her thigh for a minute before settling there resolutely and she huffs. "Yeah, hi flea bag."

Clarke's soft giggle reaches her and her eyes dart up, widening a little at the sound and she watches Clarke pick up her plate again. "Cats always like the people who hate them." She explains, when she catches Lexa's gaze. "Does he have a name?"

"No, he's just a stray," She repeats, but her hand goes to stroke down damp fur, rubbing at the spot on his neck that she knows he loves and he immediately begins to rumble with a low purr, arching into her touch.

"He sure seems to like it here," Clarke observes, but there is easy affection in her voice. "You should give him a name."

"I... I don't know what I'd call him." She keeps her eyes fixed to the animal in her lap, unable to look up at Clarke as her cheeks flush slightly at the admission.

Clarke hums softly in thought, chewing through a mouthful of food as she watches the cat intensely for a few moments, studying him. "Vincent," She says finally, "For his ear."

"After Van Gogh?" Lexa quirks an eyebrow in her direction, surprised by the choice. "Do you... like art?"

"Yeah," Eyes filled with the summer sky flicker away and she realises with a rush of sudden, unexpected affection, that Clarke is embarrassed and shy. "I used to want to be an artist, when I was in high school."

"But you never pursued it?"

"No, I stopped drawing when I was sixteen." The words are said with a certain finality, the click of a shut door that Lexa recognises as if it is a part of her.

"What do you do now?" Her fingers move to below Vincent's chin and the cat shuts his eyes in bliss.

"I work as an intern at a local paper, it's small, you probably wouldn't know it." She seems to speak hurriedly, letting the words fall from her lips and Lexa opens her mouth to enquire more, but Clarke rushes onwards. "Did you always want to be a dancer?"

"Yes," Lexa's gaze falls back to the cat, "Ever since I was young. I saw a ballet company perform, and I remember thinking the women could fly." A smile quirks her lips upwards, just slightly, "I wanted to fly more than anything, and I told myself that one day that would be me."

"Worked out well for you," There's no hint of bitterness in Clarke's voice, just admiration and a shadow of tenderness.

"Yes," Her eyes flicker to the picture of her, Anya, and Indra, which sits on the window sill, lingering on her own tentative smile, and the steady commitment that she sees in their eyes. "I was very lucky."

\----

By the time they go to bed, Vincent has vanished through the window and out into the night. Clarke is disappointed by his absence - she has spent the last hour or so sat on Lexa's rug, rolling a balled up sock backwards and forwards for him to scamper after - but Lexa reassures her.

"He'll be back," She says, watching the animal disappear off out of sight and the pout on Clarke's face makes her laugh just slightly. "Don't worry."

Clarke convinces her to leave the window cracked, so that he can get in if he needs to, and Lexa is shocked when she finds herself agreeing - Clarke is remarkably persuasive.

Clarke changes in the bathroom while Lexa slips into a pale grey, silk vest, white eyelet trimming brushing against her toned stomach as she slides her feet into the matching shorts. Her hair is still caught in the high bun she wore it in to dance and she sits on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her as nimble fingers tug the strands away, letting them fall around her face, before reaching for her brush to tug it through. Her hair puffs, settling into its natural curl and she can see it falling down to her shoulder blades, large and wild, in the reflection from the mirror against the far wall.

The bathroom door opens and shuts and then her bedroom door is being pushed tentatively open and she sees Clarke's face, her hair dried into golden waves and loose around her shoulders, peering into the room. There is a set of twinkling lights across the window that brighten the place up and her soft bedside lamp is on, but the rest of the room is dim. She can still see, however, when Clarke emerges from behind the door dressed only in the large shirt - the shoulders torn so that one falls down and off her shoulder, revealing her tanned skin - and her panties, leaving long legs on show.

Her breath catches in her throat and Lexa has to turn away, swallowing heavily as she continues to run a brush through her hair. It's nothing that she hasn't seen before, she can't forget the feeling of Clarke's body pressed up against hers, her fingers trailing through water and sweat and desire to feel her flesh, and the hot gasps of warm air sent running across her skin as Clarke had gasped and moaned and snapped against her neck. Nevertheless, there is something almost more scandalous about how Clarke looks now and she keeps her eyes on her fingers.

"Hey, your hair looks amazing." The bed shifts behind her when Clarke sits and she feels fingers in her hair for a moment. "It's so wild."

"Yeah," The word is almost choked and she squeezes her eyes shut, forces her flustered heart down. "It's a nuisance."

"But it looks so gorgeous," The bed shifts again and suddenly Clarke is beside her, her bare leg inches away from Lexa's, so close that she can almost feel the heat. Her fingers feather against Lexa's curls, brushing back the ones that lie across her face, hand skimming Lexa's jaw as she does so, and Lexa knows that her breath catches in her throat at the action. "You should wear it like that more often."

Lexa can only nod, caught for a second in blue so open and wide with innocent happiness that she feels as if she could drown in them. Being around Clarke feels very much like drowning; the floundering, anguished struggle, inevitably fruitless against the power of her gaze. Clarke clears her throat and her cheeks go a little pink as she turns, standing and walking over to the other side of the bed.

"Anyway, I'm beat so I'm probably just gonna go to sleep if that's okay with you."

Lexa nods, turning to watch her as she places the brush down and pulls her hair back in a simple braid to keep it out of her face while she sleeps. Her mouth opens, aghast, when she sees Clarke slip into the makeshift bed she'd constructed for herself out of blankets and pillows on the floor, and she marches around the bed to stand at the end of the bed roll, hands falling from her braid.

"No, Clarke, you're taking the bed."

"Don't be ridiculous," Clarke rolls her eyes, settling herself under the thin covers with a smile, hands smoothing them out on top of her.

Lexa does not move, hands rooted to her hips as she glares down at the blonde. "Clarke, you're acting absurdly. You're to have the bed."

"Really?" Clarke raises an eyebrow challengingly. "Looks like I'm set up okay here, thanks very much."

"You're my guest," Lexa can feel herself becoming agitated with the stubborn girl, her hair slowly unravelling to fall about her face and she pushes it back impatiently. "Take the bed."

"Nope." She pops the word out, turning to burrow into the blanket, curling up and letting her eyes shut. Lexa does not move, glowering at her and after a moment Clarke cracks open an eye, "You're putting me off a little, Lexa. A girl needs her beauty sleep."

"Get in the bed." She demands, harshly, but Clarke just lets out a long huff.

"Not going to happen."

"Clarke Griffin, if you don't move right now I swear I'll-"

"What?" Clarke snaps. She looks ridiculous, with her eyes still shut, hugging the pillow and arguing vehemently. "Pick me up?"

"Don't try me." Her warning comes softly and Clarke's eyes flicker open to crack and eye her.

"You wouldn't dare."

She leans down and grabs Clarke's feet, scooping them into her grip even as the blonde squeals and kicks at her, tugging away desperately.

"Lexa! Let me go!"

Clarke yanks herself from between the covers, pulling and struggling against her grip even as Lexa's feet begin to slide, caught on the blankets that cover the floor.

"Get in the bed!"

"Never!" Clarke shouts dramatically and, with a resounding huff, jerks her legs in towards her body in a move that throws Lexa off balance, bringing her toppling down on top of Clarke with a startled cry and a thump. Her head lands on the girl's stomach and Clarke grunts at the impact, sitting up slightly as Lexa tries to extricate herself.

"Clarke," Her hands go up and she pushes blindly at what she hopes is Clarke's shoulder. "Clarke get off of me."

"Oops," Clarke giggles, sitting back so she isn't curled around Lexa's head and letting her clamber up so that her hands on either side of Clarke's body are supporting her. "Are you going to scold me for making you fall again?" Clarke teases, softly, and Lexa laughs unwillingly, letting her head bow so that her hair falls in front of her face.

"No," She admits, "That didn't go too well last time."

"Oh I don't know," tender fingers push her hair back and to one side, revealing her to Clarke's affectionate gaze and she swears the touch lingers at her cheek for a second. "The results last time were pretty okay."

"Pretty okay?" She echoes and her voice is slightly shaky, her heart hammering. "Is that all?"

"Pretty more than okay," Clarke admits, and the faint blush on her cheeks is endearing and sweet, and suddenly Lexa is extremely close to veering forward and pressing an ever so gentle kiss to pink lips, but instead she eases herself backwards, ignoring the fall of Clarke's smile.

"Please take the bed?" She sounds pleading, desperate, but Clarke's lips tip upwards again and she just shakes her head.

"You know I won't, so why don't you just take it and then we'll both get some sleep."

Lexa lets out a heavy sigh, but nods in acquiescence and Clarke surges forward in a sudden movement, and then there are lips just brushing her cheek and Clarke is pulling away, rolling onto her side beneath Lexa, letting her eyes shut as if it means absolutely nothing and Lexa's heart isn't pounding out of her chest.

(But it did, and it is.)

She pushes herself up, cheek flaming, and clambers into bed, clicking off the lamp, leaving only the twinkling lights to dangle over the window and bathe them in false starlight. It's the best they'll find in the city, but somehow she thinks it is just as good. She curls underneath the covers, twisting into a small ball, her eyes still wide open as she watches the lights over the window.

"You win this round, Griffin."

"I always win, Woods."

The words make her laugh.

\----

"Was what we did wrong?"

She is quiet for a moment, wondering at the whispered words that reach her through the darkness. Clarke shifts restlessly beside her, waiting for her response and she can hear her heart pounding in her ears, chewing on her lip as she contemplates her answer.

"Lexa? Are you aw-"

"What do you mean?"

Clarke lets out a soft sigh and there is a moment of silence. "You know what I mean."

She swallows, trying to chase away the fears that threaten to choke her, and she rubs her fingers against the pillow beneath her head, thinking.

"Do you think it was wrong? I thought you wanted it?"

"I did," Clarke's words come hurriedly, and Lexa hears her take a shuddering breath. "I do." She corrects herself softly.

"I do too."

It seems to linger between them, heavy and all encompassing, like an old, musky perfume bottle spilt and soaking into a rug in a room golden with the sunlight at dusk. She stares at the ceiling through the darkness and heaves a shaky breath into her lungs, her chest rising and falling slowly as they both wait. The click of the clock on her bedside table and the distant scream of traffic from the city centre are the only noises and Lexa traces imaginary patterns into the plaster of her ceiling, finding mazes and swirls and words.

"So what's stopping us?" Clarke murmurs finally, and Lexa's long breaths catch, juddering to a halt in her chest.

"Nothing." She lets the word escape her on a breath.

The darkness makes them both braver. It hides them from their true selves, from their conscience and their uncertainty, and they are free for a few, fragile moments.

She doesn't even realised she's turned to look until she spots Clarke in the dim room, her body light and soft, slipping up from her makeshift bed and sliding under the covers beside Lexa. She shifts closer but pauses for a second before she touches Lexa, staring at her in the darkness, examining her with eyes are light as the sky at dawn.

"Is this okay?" She whispers and Lexa wonders what she means for a second, before fingers brush across her exposed collarbone and she feels her skin jolt at the touch.

"More than okay," She breathes, and a ghost of a smile crosses Clarke's lips before she pushes forward, catching Lexa's lips in her own and tangling their legs together.

In the darkness they are braver. In the darkness she allows Clarke to touch and kiss and worship. In the darkness she allows herself to arch and gasp and beg for her.

Because daybreak is hours away and for now they are safe in their true cowardice.

\----

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support, it means so much. Please hmu here or on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars, I love talking to you guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dancing together is a lot more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your support everyone! I'm so sorry for the wait, I've been crazily busy recently, hopefully an 8k chapter makes up for the wait.
> 
> I'm always indebted to the cute little @indragram for beta'ing for me.

Lexa pauses at the door to the dance studio a few days later, watching with an amused smile as Clarke prances around the room. She has her headphones in and is oblivious to Lexa's presence, eyes shut as she twirls and leaps, immersed in the music. Lexa nudges her hip against the doorframe, dropping her bag to rest at her feet and crossing her arms. There is something almost inspiring in the way that Clarke dances, carefree and reckless and  fun . Lexa can't remember the last time she had fun while dancing - the last time she wasn't thinking about technique or extension or companies. Her smile drops a little, sadness slipping through her eyes, then a voice at her side startles her.

"She's  ridiculous ."

The girl is stood a few steps away, red hair high in a fancy halo plait around her head, and she purses her lips, smiling at Lexa almost conspiratorially even though Lexa has only ever seen her at the amateur sessions; another face in the crowd of eager eyes.

"Excuse me?" Her words are sharp and curt and she sees Clarke falter from the corner of her eye, hesitating to look at their exchange, ripping out an earphone.

"Well," The girl clearly senses her animosity, stumbling uncertainly over her words, "I mean, she's not exactly ballerina material is she?"

"I think I can decide who's ballerina material, thank you. At least she's  enjoying herself ." She steps into the studio, letting the door slam shut in the girl's face behind her, anger rippling through her body as she stalks across the studio and drops her bag onto the table at the back.

Clarke watches her, winding her earphones around her phone slowly and she takes a few hesitant paces in Lexa's direction before pausing. "Um, thank you. I didn't expect you to do that for me."

"I wanted to." She turns and forces a smile, despite her lingering irritation. "She had no right to speak that way about you."

" Still ," There's a flush on Clarke's face and she shifts from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed. "It's nice of you to stand up for me."

"You're my... friend, Clarke," She stumbles over the word slightly, eyes focused on pulling off her cardigan and folding it neatly to rest beside her bag. "I always look out for my friends."

"Good to know," She can hear the smile in Clarke's voice, and when she turns around she sees the girl's light braid turning down and away from her, tendrils of hair falling over her shoulders and across the smooth expanse of her neck. "Oh, sorry," Clarke reaches up, hands twisting in the escaping locks as she glances up to meet Lexa's eyes again, chewing on her lip, "Want me to put it up?"

"No," She answers before she can think, shaking her head hastily even as Clarke's eyes widen in surprise, "It's fine as it is." Her eyes trail downwards, and she wrinkles her nose when she sees the bright blue leg warmers clinging to Clarke's calves. "What are  they ?" The disgust must be obvious in her voice because Clarke laughs loudly, throwing her head back and revealing the curve of her neck and uninterrupted skin that stretches across her collarbones.

"I knew you'd hate them," She teases softly, "I was channelling Flashdance."

"Flashdance?" Lexa’s brows crease and she can feel the slight sneer lingering against her lips, but Clarke seems to find her hysterical because she giggles again, the sound like bells chiming in the wind.

"You know, welder by day," She slinks closer - feet cat like, pacing one in front of the other - eyes fixed on Lexa's until they are close enough that she could reach out and tug at her to send the girl's body colliding into her own. "Stripper by night," Clarke’s voice is rough and throaty, and Lexa realises abruptly that she’s holding her breath.

"She's a dancer," She corrects softly, trying to ignore the way her voice quivers over the words. "Not a stripper."

"Semantics," Clarke rolls her eyes, stepping away and walking across the studio and Lexa lets out a long, shuddering sigh when sharp blue eyes are torn away from her own.

She leans back against the table, watching as Clarke does an elegant, sexy turn and wiggles her hips, giggling a little to her reflection in the mirror. "Would you rather dance like that than dance ballet?"

Clarke turns, pursing her lips thoughtfully for a moment, and when she finally answers it is with careful consideration. "It's different; ballet is nice because it's controlled and thought out, every move is purposeful, and I know I've done it right because a smile actually slips over those lips of yours," She teases gently, grinning when she sees Lexa colour a little. "The other kind of dancing I do... it's fun for the exact opposite reasons. Do you ever dance anything but ballet?"

Lexa shakes her head, brushing at imagined spots on her tights. "I did jazz and tap and modern dance as a child, to make sure I was well rounded as a dancer, but I specialised at twelve. I always knew it was ballet I wanted."

"And that's fine." Clarke's voice is softly, coaxing her eyes upwards again. "But you're allowed to try other dancing too if you want, just for fun."

"Maybe," She acquiesces, finally, "If I have time."

Clarke's eyes brighten and she holds out a hand, squeezing at Lexa's fingers when they curl around hers. "I can take you somewhere to dance, if you want."

"That sounds nice," She can't help the way that she tightens her hold on Clarke fingers, before dropping them abruptly and stepping away. "Maybe someday."

"Someday," Clarke echoes and it sounds like a promise.

\----

Someday comes more quickly than she'd expected.

She doesn't realise she's tapping her fingers irritably against the wood of the desk beneath her until one of the students sends her a dirty look across the studio. Stilling her fingers hurriedly, she clenches her hand into a fist, pressing her lips together as the girl turns back to the instructor. She's sat in on the end of the pas de deux class, fighting not say anything as she watches Clarke's partner lumber her around like she's a piece of wood. The boy is less than inefficient, and she wonders how he ended up in the programme. Lexa flinches when she sees his fingers fumble, almost dropping the blonde he supports.

Thankfully, the instructor claps her hands together and brings the class to a halt with a few quick words and Lexa rises elegantly, pacing through the jigsaw of stretched limbs and staring eyes until she arrives beside Clarke. Blue eyes rise to meet hers and she tries to stop her breath from catching - to still her thundering heart at the sight of the wide smile that stretches full, light lips at the sight of her, responding with a tight one of her own. The boy is close by, watching her uncertainly, but she pays him no mind, instead offering a hand to help Clarke balance as she stands to stretch.

"Thanks," Warm fingers thread through hers as Clarke shifts into an easy stretch, "I didn't realise you were coming to class today."

"I was passing," She offers easily, shrugging off her curiosity.

"Any tips?" Clarke lets her less than satisfactory answer slide, tightening her fingers as she switches legs. When Lexa raises her eyebrows, she laughs softly and shakes her head, "Stupid question, right?"

"I do have several notes, but they can wait until we have our studio time together and I can correct them myself." She's aware of how formal she sounds, but she can feel the gazes of almost every person in the room on her, prickling up and over her skin like a sunburn and she is suddenly eager to leave.

"Alright," Clarke is amicable enough, reaching down to grab her bag and Lexa tries not to notice the loss of her touch when she pulls her hand away. "Hey, I was wondering something,"

"Oh?" Lexa leads their way out of the classroom, nodding to the instructor as Clarke waves her thanks for the class. She is striding through the hallways, forcing Clarke to rush a little just to keep up with her.

"Yeah, what are you doing today?"

"Not... a lot," Her answer is stilted, and she immediately regrets it when she sees Clarke's eyes light up. "I have no scheduled classes or appointments, so I will likely just be practicing alone."

"Want to do something more fun?" Clarke nudges her with her shoulder playfully, smiling conspiratorially.

"That depends," Lexa hesitates, eyeing her uncertainly as she comes to a halt beside the door to the changing rooms. "Are drugs going to be involved?"

She's only half joking, so when Clarke laughs she flushes with relief, "Oh my god Lexa,  no . Just trust me?" Her eyes are so wide and innocent that Lexa feels as though she’s caught in them, until she feels Clarke's fingers running over the back of her own, her pinky finger curling around Lexa's. "Please?"

She barely hears herself respond, she is so lost in Clarke's gaze. "Fine."

\----

She only turns her back for a few seconds, but Clarke is gone when Lexa glances over at the stall of old bracelets the blonde had been perusing only moments before. She lets out a soft, irritated sigh at the empty space behind her, craning her neck for a moment to search out blonde curls in the crowd, but Clarke is nowhere to be seen. She huffs again, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and turns on her heel, digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she meanders over to the used book stand.

Clarke was the one who  insisted they come here, and she can't suppress her irritation at the girl's apparent disappearance after only a few moments. Still, she can feel the effects of the weak punch Clarke had pressed into her hands in paper cups earlier that day running through her body, and the sun is bright in the sky, and she thinks there are worse ways to spend her time. She enjoys the feel of the warm sunlight on her skin as she bends over the old books; paperbacks falling apart under their own weight, thick old journals held together by tape and good faith, and old hardbacks that have long lost their dust sheets. She picks one up, running fingers over the fabric of the cover before turning to the embossed gold of the title, running down the paled pink spine, her fingers following the curve of the letters as if they are the figures of graceful dancers across a stage. There's something old and precious about the feeling, and she smiles before handing it back to the elderly man running the stall.

She's just reaching into her back pocket to pull out her phone when a hand taps her gently on the shoulder. She jolts in surprise and turns, blinking when she sees Clarke, fresh faced and smiling before her, the skirt of her white and blue sundress rustled by the breeze, that teases her blonde hair away from where she has pulled the front two sections away from the face and pinned them to the back of her head. Clasped in her hands, to Lexa's surprise, is a small bouquet of violets wrapped in delicate tissue paper.

"Clarke," She steps away from the stand, "I was wondering where you had gone."

"Sorry," The girl sounds a little breathless, and she reaches up to push away stray hair from her face, grinning at Lexa. "I meant to be quick, but the queue was long. Anyway, I got you these." She thrusts the violets into Lexa's hands, who is so shocked that she almost drops the bouquet, fumbling with it for a moment, desperate not to crush the delicate flowers.

"You... got me these?" She's abruptly glad that the light shirt she's wearing covers her collarbones, because she can feel the heat travelling up her chest, a dusting of pink that is soon sure to betray her on her cheeks.

"Well, they're not  totally for you," Clarke seems suddenly embarrassed and uncertain and she reaches out hasty hands to pluck a few stems from the artfully arranged bouquet, stepping around Lexa, and for a moment there is nothing but Lexa's held breath, and the brunette suddenly feels like her nerve endings are wired with electricity.

Gentle fingers touch her hair, fingering the long dark braid down her back and she realises abruptly that Clarke is sliding the small flowers into the creases in her plait. The girl's hands brush against her bare neck a few times and she struggles not to react, staring down at the remaining violets in her hands, eyes tracing the fragile veins that run over the petals, the colour a stark contrast to the grass beneath their feet and her dark jeans.

The paper is crushed under her tightening fingers when Clarke kisses the back of her neck chastely and steps away to admire her handiwork, smiling up at Lexa when she turns to face her.

"There, they look great!"

"Thank you," She pauses, eyes searching the surrounding stalls, desperate to look at anything that is not the golden haired girl in front of her. "I, um- still don't understand what we're doing here."

"It's just a festival Lexa," Clarke smiles, snaking her arm around Lexa's to tangle their fingers together and tug her forward, "But I did have ulterior motives," She admits, grinning mischievously as Lexa tries not to her notice her thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of her palm.

"Oh yes? Illegal ones?" She manages, a little breathlessly and Clarke throws back her head to laugh at the accusation.

"Oh Lexa, I don't think I'll ever be able to get you to do anything illegal."

"Something would have to go terribly wrong," She agrees, arching an eyebrow, "Are you often engaged in illegal activities, Clarke? Because I highly advise you not to be, as your instructor, because it won't look good on your academy application."

Clarke snorts ungraciously, rolling her eyes, "I'm a maverick, you know that." She teases softly and Lexa lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"Not the best quality for a ballerina."

"Not for  your kind of ballerina, at least." Clarke counters easily, and Lexa can only shake her head, attention diverted as they round a corner and the source of the music she has been hearing all afternoon is revealed.

A bandstand, old and quaint, painted in blue and white, holds a swing band in bow ties and white shirts. They are playing a jolly song, upbeat and brassy, and a woman stands at the front, singing into an old microphone. In the grass in front of them people are dancing, mostly elderly couples smiling at one another and keeping a steady, easy beat around the dance floor, the few scattered tables and chairs that surround the makeshift dance floor holding smiling onlookers as Lexa comes to an abrupt halt.

"Well?" Clarke smiles at her, excited and nervous in equal parts. "You said you wanted to do some dancing that isn't ballet? Does this count?"

"You... want to dance?" She is still hesitating, blinking between the dancers and Clarke. "You want to  swing dance ?"

"Well, I mean it says it's swing but I think it's a bit more of a mix," Clarke rolls her eyes, shrugging easily and moving her bag so that the strap sits more securely across her body. "But yeah, I guess so?"

"I... haven't danced swing in a long time." Lexa admits, swallowing nervously. "I haven't danced  tap  in a long time."

"Hey," The fingers around hers squeeze gently, and she bring her eyes up to meet Clarke's soft gaze. "This isn't about being good, remember?"

"Okay." She nods, at last, and Clarke's smile almost makes up for the nerves eating away at her stomach as she is led closer towards the band, hesitating at the edge of the group of dancers.

"Here," Quietly, Clarke takes both of her hands, holding them loosely between their bodies, but when Lexa goes to move she raises an eyebrow, "Why don't you let me lead?"

It's surprising - but not unwelcome - and she nods once, watching with interest as Clarke draws her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist until they are close to one another and she slides a hand up, over the shoulder that is mostly bare beneath the flimsy strap of Clarke's dress.

"This is strange," She admits quietly, and Clarke's smile is full of understanding and kindness as she nods.

"I know... just let go, alright? Have fun."

The blonde begins to draw them around to a quick pace, their feet moving back and forth across from each other as they start to spin and Lexa can feel herself slipping away, working towards the focussed, forced headspace that she always finds herself in when dancing, until Clarke's cheek brushes against her own and soft words are whispered in her ear, jarring her from her reverie.

"Hey, stop thinking. It'll be more fun, I promise."

Slowly, she lets out a shuddering sigh and plies herself back into the real world, nodding at Clarke and the girl smiles widely before she spins them out, taking Lexa so by surprise that she releases a stream of breathy, shocked laughter as she twists beneath Clarke's arm. It's as if her years of tap come running back to her, streaming through her veins at the sound of the hoarse trumpets and the pounding drums and the breathy, lilting voice is the singer. Her feet move of their own accord and she beams as they spin together across the dance floor, before Clarke pulls her close by the waist again, until their cheeks are pressed together and she can dance Lexa across the floor, fingers splayed out across Lexa's back, dress catching at Lexa's knees, twirling out from her and revealing long legs when Lexa spins her. She's seen Clarke legs so many times before, but there is something particularly wonderful and adventurous about peeking them under a long, spinning skirt.

The song comes to an end suddenly as she spins Clarke back into her so hard that she has to hold her close to stop them both from stumbling over. Clarke squeaks in surprise, but when she looks up at her, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling with excitement.

"Enjoying yourself?" The blonde asks, her voice rough with exertion and laughter.

"It doesn't have the discipline of ballet," She teases, quietly, "But it's an amusing diversion."

"Such high praise," Clarke giggles as the band begin a slower, gentler song and Lexa dips her head, murmuring.

"May I lead?"

Clarke only nods, weaving her arms around Lexa's neck, who runs her hands down over the ridges of Clarke's spine to settle at the small of her back, pulling her closer. They circle a few times, feet moving together until Lexa swings her out slowly, gasping softly when Clarke's body presses back against hers as they swing back together.

"You know," Clarke husks softly in her ear. "I'm not so interested in dancing anymore."

"It's going to rain soon," She can feel Clarke's breath, hot and heavy across her neck and she feels as if her senses are dulling, fogging with their proximity. "We should find shelter."

"It would only be sensible." Clarke nods sombrely against her neck, but Lexa can feel her stifling a laugh and she pulls her by the hand away from the crowd, tugging until she can push her up against the back of an old monument and place a searing kiss against the blonde's lips, greedy hands playing at her waist and keeping their bodies pressed close together.

"Mm, Lexa," Clarke mumbles as she moves down to pepper the column of her neck with soft kisses and playful nips. Fingers wrap into her hair and she feels arching breasts pressing against her, the long, ragged breaths that Clarke heaves into her lungs rushing against her skin. "We're in public." She points out, breathlessly and Lexa grins against her skin, before moving her eyes up and asking, innocently.

"Do you want to stop?"

Her hand slides up Clarke's bare thigh and she feels the shiver that runs through her body, forcing the blonde's head back against the monument as her hand continues to venture higher, and crooked knuckles brush against damp fabric.

" Shit ," She gasps out the curse, biting at Lexa's lips when they return to her own, body arching and squirming when teasing fingers brush against her over her panties. "Maybe you really  are  a maverick, Woods."

"Maybe you're a bad influence," She counters, fingers playing at the lacy edge of her underwear.

"Oh yeah," Clarke's breathing hitches when a finger slides down, brushing through fine hair to dance ever closer to where she needs them. " I'm the problem..."

The first few spots of rain are barely noticeable as the beautiful girl beneath her huffs breathy whispers of air against her, biting her lip to stifle little moans and whimpers, but moments later the heavens open and they both yelp, Lexa dragging her hands from Clarke's underwear as the girl rushes to readjust herself.

"Fucking shit!" Clarke stares up at the darkening clouds, the rain already soaking through her thin dress. "Talk about a cold shower."

"Come on," Lexa grabs at her hand, pulling them into the rushing crowd, hurrying to leave the park and get out onto the sidewalk again, hailing the first cab she sees and bundling them both inside.

It's only when she gets home that she realises that the violets had been lost somewhere between the dance and the monument. Carefully, she plucks each individual flower from her hair and places them in an empty jam jar, carrying it into her room to place on the bedside table.

\----

"It's been over a week Griffin, I'm going to fire your ass if you don't come up with something soon."

"I'm getting there, okay? Listen, don't fire me, I'm closer to her than anyone else you will ever get on this piece."

"All I hear is talk, I'm not getting any results."

"I told you, I'm on it! I gave you a time and a place, right?"

"Yeah, but the guys upstairs are starting to wonder why they're writing out paycheques for someone who isn't even here."

"Just turn up tomorrow night, Kane! You'll get something to tide you over until I get you that exclusive."

\----

It's been a long time since Lexa last spent so long getting ready for something. She knows how to make herself look good, has performed enough times to have a twenty minute beauty routine down to the last second, giving herself time to rehearse and stretch before stepping on stage. She's always prided herself on her discipline, but now, with clothes strewn out across the neatly made bed behind her, her closet doors wide open and garishly empty, she is about as far from her usual collected, together self as possible.

(Clarke Griffin seems to have that effect on her.)

On the bed, Vincent lounges, legs stretched out and watching her with an air of disdain and she cocks an eyebrow at him.

"A lot of help you are."

He twists and starts meticulously cleaning himself.

With a slight sigh, she tugs on her plaid shirt, pulling at it to adjust the shoulder a little, nervous fingers reaching up to tweak at the collar. Her hair is large, wild and curly and she hauls it around her shoulder, combing her fingers through it. Is it too late to cancel? Her phone sits on her bedside table temptingly, and she stares at it, licking at her lips nervously. Truthfully, it's been years since she did anything that wasn't purely academic. When she was younger she would sometimes venture out into the city with the rest of the girls from her dance classes, supervised by a teacher or a parent, but she had always felt out of place. Perhaps it was because she didn't know the colourful TV shows they always talked about, or because she couldn't tell stories of her older siblings sneaking out of the house, or because she had been new to the country - still learning their language, her accent still thick and heavy.

Regardless of the reason, by the time she had become a teenager, the trips and outings had steadily dwindled; she had politely refused them until finally the offers had stopped coming, and she was left to watch from her window as her classmates streamed out from the academy, arms linked and sodas grasped in their hands.

Now as a rule she tries to avoid social ventures as much as possible, unless Indra or Anya insists on her going to something -  this gala or that reception. She goes to the ballet on her own, unless one of her mentors find the time to come with her, and she finds that if she wears dark glasses and keeps her head down, she can get past the reporters without any real trouble.

However, when Clarke had pressed her wet body up against Lexa's in the back of the cab hurtling through the streets, searching for warmth and whispered her invitation against Lexa's skin, it had been too much to resist.

Still, her phone is looking ever more tempting.

A loud knock to her door jerks her from her reverie and her eyes dart to the clock on her table, eyebrows creasing as she hurries towards the door.

Clarke stands in the doorway, tapping something out on her phone, but when the door swings open she looks up and fixes Lexa with a wide smile, stepping through the door to hug her briefly before inviting herself into the apartment. She has her hair down in messy waves, and there’s a dark hat perched on the back of her head, the look completed with a denim shirt thrown over her dress; she looks like the epitome of careless beauty.  

"Hey, I know we're early but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"No, it's fine," She swallows, tearing her eyes away from Clarke to peer out into the empty corridor for any other guests, before pushing the door shut. "Just um, give me a second."

Clarke follows her through into her bedroom, just as Lexa knew she would, and raises her eyebrow at the hurricane of clothes thrown about the room haphazardly. "Couldn't decide what to wear?"

"I don't do this sort of thing often," She tosses her a glare over her shoulder as she reaches for her keys and phone, pushing them into her purse.

"Or ever." Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing some of the clothes to one side, giving her room to collapse onto her back on the bed, "Hello darling," She reaches her fingers out to wiggle them in Vincent's direction, cooing at him, and the cat deigns to stand and stalk towards her, arching his back appreciatively when she runs her fingers over his spine. "Sorry we're early, Octavia had some sort of lead meltdown and she made Bellamy go to her apartment and get the one she needed."

"Bellamy is... Octavia's brother?" She hesitates, one foot halfway into her boot as she watches Clarke nod, scratching at Vincent's head, the cat's eyes closing blissfully in response.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"How is Octavia feeling? Nervous?"

Clarke snorts, shaking her head, "Please, that girl is  made of confidence, she doesn't get nervous."

"I can imagine that she doesn't," The fond smile on her face gains a beam from Clarke, who stands to approach her, hands slipping around her waist and squeezing lightly.

"You look great, by the way."

"Thanks," She tries not to think about the warmth of Clarke's fingers seeping through the fabric of her shirt to her skin, "I just have to do something with my hair."

"No," Clarke's fingers inch up to wrap one curl around her finger and smile coyly. "I like it."

"Really?" She cocks a sceptical eyebrow, watching Clarke in the mirror. "It's crazy."

"It's sexy." Clarke corrects her, turning to grab Lexa’s purse so that she can toss it in her direction. "Come on, we should get going."

\----

Outside, a small blue car idles on the sidewalk, pounding pop music blasting through the open windows and she steels herself, stiff shoulders only unfurling when Clarke gently touches the small of her back.

"Hey, smile, it'll be fine."

A sheepish smile stretches across her lips and she nods, ducking her head so that her hair swings in front of her face, disguising the blush that slips across her cheeks.

Clarke gestures to the back seat as she pulls open the front passenger door, smiling apologetically. "I'm doing the directions, sorry."

"It's fine," She swings open the car door and slides onto the slippery plastic seat, startling when she realises who is sat beside her. "Raven, hello."

"Oh yeah," Clarke peers around, gesturing between them as Lexa pulls the door shut behind her. "Raven, Lexa, do you guys know each other?"

"Yeah, we used to dance together," Raven smiles at her, "Right Lex?"

"Yes, when we were younger." She nods her agreement, smiling at the nostalgia that shifts through her body. "You were a good dancer, but you never wore the correct uniform."

"True," Raven laughs as the dark haired guy driving the car starts up the engine and pulls away from the sidewalk. "And I was always chewing gum. I was a nightmare."

"Still, talented." Lexa relents, and Raven laughs more loudly.

"God, I never thought I see the day when Lexa Woods admitted someone else was talented."

"She always told me she could recognise skill," Clarke's eyes twinkle with mirth, and Lexa tries not to flush under her gaze, busying herself with buckling her belt.

"Besides, you aren't competition anymore." She manages to grin at Raven, who nods enthusiastically.

"Very true," She leans back, gesturing to the floppy haired guy with strange, steampunk style goggles balanced on his head and an oversized shirt buttoned up to the collar who's sat beside her. "This is Jasper, Jasper meet Lexa Woods."

"Hey," the boy gives a slightly dorky wave, grinning nervously.

"And driving is Bellamy, Octavia's brother."

The dark haired boy snorts and she sees him roll his eyes in the mirror. "Is that my suffix now, Reyes? Octavia's brother?"

"When she makes it big you'll be glad to call yourself her brother." Clarke points out, still leaning her shoulder against the back of her seat so that she can talk to them all.

"Yeah, and I'll probably still be trailing damn cords across the city for her," He grumbles, irritably, then reaches over to tap the map on Clarke's lap. "Will you please do your job and help me out?"

"Yes captain," Clarke winks at Lexa over the curve of her seat, and the brunette thinks that Raven grins at the sight of her blush, so she hurriedly trains her eyes on the passing scenery.

\----

Bellamy disappears the moment that they get to the small, sticky basement where Octavia will be playing. It's already reasonably full, people crowded close to the bar in the corner, some commandeering the round tables that are scattered around the edge of the room. The walls are coated in posters, bright and eclectic, and there are large speakers playing out some tinny pop music stacked close to the stage, where scruffy musicians mess with wires and instruments.

Clarke seeks out Lexa, stood towards the back of their small group and lingers as Raven and Jasper pass her, chatting animatedly about some video game. The girl tosses her a small smile as she approaches and when she's close enough, Clarke threads her arm through Lexa's and smiles at her.

"Doing okay?" Her voice is light, but Lexa cocks an eyebrow.

"I'm managing so far, yes."

"Hey, just looking out for you." She bumps her head against Lexa's shoulder gently and feels the arm around hers tighten a little. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

Lexa's eyes widen a little at that, but she doesn't protest as Clarke pulls her across the room to where her friends stand, some leaning against the bar in an attempt to get the bartender's attention.

"Guys," She raises her voice slightly to grab their attention, and smiling faces turn to look at her, greetings spilling from their lips before they take in the stranger beside her. "This is Lexa, a friend of mine."

Lexa raises her hand uncertainly, her smile tentative, and Clarke feels a sudden surge of protectiveness, her eyes swinging back to look at her friends meaningfully until they grin back.

"This is Monty," Raven has appeared at Lexa's other side, introducing her to the guy next to them.

"Hey," The boy gives her an open, warm smile, continuing to fiddle with the microphone in his hands as he speaks. "I'm the sound manager for the gig, so I won't be around much, but it's good to meet you."

"You too," Lexa's eyes wander to Raven, creasing curiously as she looks between Clarke and the brunette. "How do you two know each other, then?"

A blush creeps up Clarke's cheeks, embarrassment coiling in her stomach as Raven throws back her head and laughs so loudly that the people around them turn to look. Lexa's brows only crease further and her eyes flicker nervously to Clarke, lips pursing defensively as Clarke hurries to explain.

"We met at the academy, kinda... by accident. She's hung out with me and my friends a few times since then."

"Oh no," Raven cuts through, shaking her head even as Clarke glowers warningly at her. "She's missing out the bit where she came storming into the auditorium after fighting with  you ."

She shuts her eyes for a moment, wondering if the floor will open up beneath her through sheer force of will, but when they flicker open again Lexa is stood beside her, watching her curiously, and Raven is chuckling so hard that Monty reaches out to hook a hand under her arm and keep her steady.

"That's... unsurprising," Lexa admits after a moment, a twinkle of secretive mirth lingering in the back of her eyes and Clarke tries to fight off the heat wandering up her neck, rubbing at her shoulder awkwardly as she provides.

"It was after the... pointe shoes incident."

"Ah," Lexa's eyes widen and she smiles ruefully, "I suppose I can forgive you then. That was... explosive."

"Must have been bad if you're happy to let it go," Raven raises an eyebrow, but Clarke pulls her arm out of Lexa's, squeezing at her elbow.

"You want a drink?"

"Well," The girl hesitates, eyes darting nervously around the circle of friends as she speaks, "I don't... usually drink."

"One drink won't ruin your dancing career," She coaxes gently, and when Lexa sighs and nods a little she smiles, leaning up on her toes to brush a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek before shouldering her way through the growing crowds towards the bar.

She slots in beside Murphy, who nods at her in greeting, tapping his ten bucks against the bar impatiently even as he turns to peer over his shoulder at where Lexa remains, talking quietly to Raven and Monty. Clarke tries to ignore the sticky, sweaty feel of the bar beneath her figures, digging in the small purse at her hip for her phone as Murphy comments, dryly.

"Your girlfriend's hot, Griffin."

"She's not my girlfriend," She doesn't even bother raising her eyes from Octavia's excited texts- all seven of them- to respond to him, but she hears when he snorts.

"Yeah right, Octavia says you've been at it nonstop."  

A loud noise of disgust leaves her and she slaps at his arm angrily, eyes darting back to Lexa even though she's too far away to hear them. "Shut the  fuck up, you slimy jackass- hey!"

The bartender, casting an irritated look to Murphy, slides past him to stop in front of Clarke, pushing dark hair back from her face and leaning against the bar as she speaks. "What can I get you?"

"Two beers, thanks," she pushes her dollars over the bar at the girl's nod, but Murphy is undeterred.

"Seriously though, isn't she a dancer?" At Clarke's reluctant grunt of agreement, he continues, grinning, " Score , Griffin. So is she really flexible?"

"Oh my god," The bartender returns with the beers in time to catch the end of the conversation, and sneers at Murphy, "is this asshole bothering you?"

"Unfortunately we have mutual friends," Clarke rolls her eyes, taking the cold drinks gratefully. "But thank you."

"No problem," The girl wrinkles her nose and passes on to the next customer, despite Murphy's loud protests.

Lexa is talking animatedly with Raven about an old acquaintance when Clarke returns, but she turns the moment Clarke approaches, smiling in greeting and taking the drink from her hands. "Thank you, what do I owe you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," She shakes her head, brushing off the money Lexa tries to press into her hands. "This one's on me. You can get the next round."

"Come on," Raven nods to the stage, where the first set of musicians are starting to set up. "I want to get a good spot so Octavia can hear me booing properly."

Clarke snorts loudly at her words, and after a moment Lexa chuckles, quietly, shaking her head in bemusement as the girl starts to push her way through the gathered crowds.

"Hey," Clarke places her hand at Lexa's elbow, squeezing softly. "All okay?"

"Yes," Lexa seems to hesitate for a second, "This is... very good. Thank you, Clarke."

"You're welcome," The smile that spreads across her face threatens to stay there all night.

\----

It takes all of two hours for Clarke to become very,  very  drunk.

Lexa isn't quite sure when it happened. She went to the bathroom - a small, squalid thing that took all of her tipsy bravery to use - and when she returned Clarke was on her last vodka shot with Octavia, clicking her glass sloppily with the other girl's before draining it and slamming it down onto the bar with a loud whoop, the bartender laughing at her antics.

Octavia, high off her post show adrenaline, has been pushing more and more drinks into Lexa's hand since she staggered, drenched in sweat and still clutching her guitar, off the stage. Each one more bitter than the last, Lexa swallows them down to fight against the rising nerves and low, bubbling anxiety she can feel in her stomach. The bar is hot and crowded, bodies on every side of her and a large part of her wants to go home, to escape out of the door and curl up in bed with some trashy movie and Vincent- or preferably Clarke- in her lap. But the blonde seems to be only just beginning, her eyes sparkling with adrenaline and happiness as she laughs and chats and dances ,and Lexa is left, hovering on the edge of their group, not quite able to relax, and wishing she could find it within herself to leave.

Clarke bright eyes and insistent hands pull her into the crowd. It's like gravity dragging her ever closer to the girl, and no matter how much she fights, her feet carry her forwards until she is surrounded by laughing, singing people. The sweat hangs in the air, coating every inch of her and bodies brush against her from every angle, pressing her in.

"Hey!" Clarke shouts above the thudding beat that seems to thrum through them like a wave, " Relax !" Her hands run briefly down Lexa's body, touching at her waist, and the look in her eyes is abruptly hungry, before Octavia's hands close around her wrist, pulling Clarke in to dance with her and Raven, and leaving Lexa stranded in the writhing mass of bodies.

She almost turns, her heart speeding in her chest, but then Raven is there, tugging her gently into their circle and she is sandwiched between the brunette and Octavia, Clarke beaming at her as they throw their hands in the air and wiggle their hips and scream along to the music. There's something remarkably freeing about the anonymity of it all, and though the crowds make her feel uncertain and anxious, with people she knows on either side there is a sense of camaraderie and spirit that settles around her buzzing shoulders.

"Come on Lexa! Dance!" Raven encourages her over the music, smiling widely and Lexa swallows, before finally pushing her hair back and moving her hips to the rhythm, laughing when Octavia cheers her on enthusiastically.

It's so strange to be dancing for nobody but herself, and she is reminded, suddenly, of cold wooden floors beneath small feet, of peering through cracked theatre doors to watch rehearsals and spinning up and down the corridors before being caught and thrown from the building. Even then, she had danced up and down the busy streets.

"Hey!" The unfamiliar voice draws her attention and she frowns, eyes settling on the woman with dark hair that she recognises as the bartender from earlier. She's still in her uniform, and is holding a bottle up in offering, smiling at them all as Clarke beams at her. "You guys want something to drink?"

"How much?" Octavia shouts above the music, swaying a little when she leans closer.

The woman smiles, her hand touching lightly at the small of Clarke's back. "On the house."

Octavia screams her approval loud enough to make Lexa flinch back, and the woman gives them all small plastic shot glasses, sloppily pouring out helpings. They raise the glasses and the liquid burns Lexa's throat when she forces it down, leaving her coughing and spluttering as Raven pats her on the back, chuckling.

The song changes and Clarke gasps, "I love this song!"

"Me too," The girl's hands wrap around Clarke's waist as she dances, though the blonde doesn't seem to notice or care because she keeps dancing, laughing and singing along loudly with the female vocals, shaking her hips happily to the beat.

Lexa's eyes feel fixed to the bartender's hands, unable to tear herself away as she swallows nervously, her skin heating and prickling with something close to anger, a bitter twist of jealousy burrowing into her.

"You're staring," Raven's voice is close to her ear, her hands wrapping around Lexa's waist as they continue to dance and Lexa swallows again, her eyes darting between Clarke and Raven. "I thought you two weren't exclusive?"

"We're- we're not," Her hands tighten around the shot glass, so harshly that it cracks beneath her fingers and Raven lets out an abrupt laugh, pulling away to shake her head exasperatedly at her as Clarke's fingers curl suddenly over her wrist and jolt her from her stupor.

"Come take shots with me, Lex!" She is stumbling and Lexa pulls an arm around her waist to help the girl stay upright, perching her hat more firmly on her head as they are led through the crowd towards the bar.

The bartender slides two tequila shots across the bar towards them, along with salt and lime and Lexa looks at the set up, momentarily perplexed until Clarke pulls her a step closer.

"It's a process," She explains, her voice gruff from the alcohol, and takes Lexa's hand between both of hers. She brings it up to her lips and swipes her tongue along the swatch of skin between the thumb and fingers, and Lexa's breath catches in her throat when Clarke looks up at her from beneath her lashes, her breath warm against Lexa's skin. "You just pour on the salt, see?" The small white granules roll over Lexa's hand, a few sticking close to where Clarke's tongue had been. "And then..." the girl slides her tongue over Lexa's hand, gathering the crystals in her mouth before slamming back the shot, her face crunching tightly as she gropes for the lime and pushes it into her mouth.

Lexa laughs softly, shaking her head. Unable to help herself, she brushes back the hair falling over Clarke's cheek and says, "You looked like you enjoyed that."

"Give it a try," She offers Lexa the second shot and her own hand, and Lexa looks at them for a moment, considering, before taking both gingerly in her hands.

With hesitant movements, she lifts Clarke's hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the soft skin before allowing her tongue to press against it. Clarke is watching her intently - eyes flaming with something Lexa can't quite name - as she pours on the salt and licks it off Clarke's hand, before forcing down the harsh, hot liquor. Her whole body seems to repel against the sensation - mouth twisting and eyes scrunching - and when she opens her eyes Clarke is watching her, smirking slightly, and holding out the lime for Lexa to sink sharp teeth into.

Every hair on her body feels electrified, her head is thrumming, and everything is oddly cloudy and distant, so when Clarke reels forward suddenly and presses their lips together, she almost falls backwards. Instead, she is pressed up against the bar and her arms move of their own accord, one pulling Clarke closer by the waist, the other tangling in her hair, knocking her hat to the ground.

Clarke's mouth opens in a gasp, her hands settling at Lexa's hips to play with the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing temptingly against bare skin as their breath mingles, then their kisses becoming sloppier, more desperate. Lexa shifts a little to the side and Clarke stumbles forward, her thigh slotting between Lexa's legs, and Lexa breaks the kiss to gasp. Her heavy, hungry gaze falls to Clarke, and relief courses through her veins when Clarke's fingers dance up to trace around her bellybutton and the blonde whispers ‘Wanna get out of here?’ against her lips.

" So much ," Lexa nods, and Clarke pushes herself away, her touch sliding down Lexa's arm to grasp at her hand and intertwine their fingers, pulling them along through the crowd.

The cold air is the first thing that hits them when they step out of the bar, like a wave of cold water on a hot day, and she breathes in for one long, peaceful moment.

The second thing that hits is the flashing of cameras, bright in the dark night, and the loud voices of photographers and journalists. She feels blinded by the camera flashes, the alcohol still making her limbs heavy and slow, and she stumbles back, away from the barrage, spinning around to see Clarke's aghast expression. The girl's hand presses her forward, her arm slipping around Lexa's waist to try to lead her through the thick swab of reporters. They refuse to move, forcing Clarke to push and shove at them until they get to the sidewalk. Behind the cameras, Lexa can see people watching her. A few even hold up their phones - though she is sure they have no idea who she is - and it feels like she’s been dunked in ice water, goose bumps rising on her arms as she hunches her shoulders, hair swinging in front of her face to hide her as Clarke waves a hand to hail a passing cab.

She doesn't realise she's trembling until Clarke bundles her into the back of the car, snapping Lexa's address to the driver before taking Lexa into her arms, cradling her close as hands run down her hair and over her back.

She closes her eyes, but all she can see is the flashing of the cameras, light lightning trapped beneath her eyelids.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know down below or on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars and tell me what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa and Anya talk and Clarke is quite happy for Lexa to lose her balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um hi, so I'm very sorry for how long it's taken me to update but... here I am? Enjoy!
> 
> (Quick recap: last we saw, Clarke and Lexa had been ambushed outside a club and are torn from their drunken make out session by flashing cameras.)

She wakes slowly, to the unfamiliar sight of hazy light streaming in through her thin curtains and painting the whole room a gentle white. The blankets are tangled around her legs, curled in twisted knots and she groans quietly, struggling to extract herself from the warm cocoon she's created. The clock on the nightstand reads half past ten and she groans burying her face further into her pillow even as her stomach curls anxiously at the thought of the morning wasted. She turns to gripe about the time, but the bed beside her is empty, the sheets thrown back haphazardly and it's only at that moment that she registers the soft, urgent voice coming from the corner of her room.

She is still feeling slightly fragile from the drinks poured down her throat the night before, so when she sits up it is carefully, blinking owlishly through the room at Clarke's figure in the corner.

"How was I supposed to know it would leak?" Clarke is whispering harshly, her brows creased but Lexa's movements catch her eye and when she turns her expression smoothes out instantly. Lexa's gaze is caught by the sight of one of her own large, soft shirts thrown over Clarke's otherwise bare body, her cheeks flushing when she thinks of the drunken, fumbling touches exchanged between them the night before. "I have to go, yeah... no, listen I'll try my best okay. Fine. Bye."

"Something wrong?" She asks as Clarke throws the phone angrily across the room to bounce on the bed close to Lexa's foot, but the blonde just shakes her head, pushing her hair back anxiously.

"No, just something with my landlord." She moves to sit heavily on the squeaky bed, her body landing just close enough to Lexa's that their arms are pressed together and Lexa marvels at the feel of warm, soft flesh against hers.

"Are you okay?" Her brows crease even as her attention is diverted downwards to the apex of Clarke's thighs.

"Yeah," Clarke brushes her off, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as Lexa leans over to grab her own phone from next to the alarm clock. "I turned off your alarm, hope that's okay," Clarke's hand brushes tentatively over hers and down to tangle with her fingers. "I figured you would need your rest and it's Sunday... lazy day."

"I don't mind," she turns to smile quietly at the girl, before clicking on her phone, "It's nice to wake up next to a beautiful girl, though I do have a private class later."

"I'll bet," Clarke laughs, lips spreading into a wide grin but Lexa can't raise her eyes to look at her, her expression crumpling as she stares at her home screen. "What? What is it?" Clarke leans over her shoulder, concerned and curious before releasing a soft breath of air close to her ear, sending it spiralling across her neck. "Wow, Indra sure does want to talk to you."

There are four missed calls and two texts from Indra, crowding and hustling for space on her home screen and she hurries to her voicemail, bringing the phone up to her ear to chew on her lips as the beep sounds and Indra's voice hits her, words pressed out from between clenched teeth.

" _ Alexandra, call me as soon as you get this. I can't believe you've allowed something like this to happen after all of the hard work Anya and I have put in for you, it's unacceptable. _ "

"Oh god."

"What?" Clarke's fingers appear at the bare skin of her shoulders, rubbing soothingly across them and then down in a long, smooth circle down Lexa's back as the girl pulls her knees up towards her body, dropping her forehead onto them as dread flood through her stomach. Clarke's nails drag gently down her spine, ghosting down and then up again. "What's wrong, Lexa?"

She shakes her head, twisting to look at the girl through stray strands of hair, "can you go downstairs for me? There should be papers in the mailbox." She turns to fumble in the drawer beside her bed for the key, pressing it into Clarke's hands even as the girl's brows furrow.

"Yeah, I mean of course but Lex... what did Indra  _ say _ ?"

"Can you just do it Clarke?" The words escape her sharply and she sees a twinge of pain run across Clarke's face and regret twists her stomach. "I'm sorry, can you just... please?"

"Of course," Clarke's expression softens and she stretches across to press a kiss to the top of her head, scooping abandoned pyjama shorts from the floor as she slides from the bed and disappears out of the door.

Alone in her room, Lexa's fingers linger over the dial button hesitantly, chewing on her lip before finally exiting out of the application and taking a deep, shuddering breath before typing her name into the search bar and hitting enter. Her wikipedia page is the first thing that appears, sparsely detailed and checked regularly by Anya and Indra to make sure it isn't being tampered with. Below it sits the video of her at the age of seventeen, winning her first national title, the one that she had clung on to in the last set of competitions. It's a slightly shaky recording from the left of the audience, but somehow it had caught media attention and the video itself has over two million views now. She watches it back sometimes, curses the mistakes that seem to glare out at her and wonders why such a mediocre performance won over the hearts of the public.

Below this, however, is what catches her eye. A set of links from recent news articles, with headlines that seem to scream out harsh, angry words like  _ drunken mess _ and  _ stumbling  _ and  _ slurring words _ . Her stomach drops and she feels sick at the sight of them, her breathing quickening even as she stares at the bright blue links.

"Lexa?" Clarke has reappeared without her noticing and when she looks up to blink through bleary eyes at the girl, Clarke is frowning, perching back on the edge of the bed with the papers in her hands. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," but even as she speaks, Lexa reaches out to snatch the papers out of her grip, throwing her phone to one side in disgust and tearing through the first thick, heavy paper to find herself. She's buried at the back, only a few paragraphs and a blurry picture of her, face pale and eyes downcast, arms raised to protect herself from the camera flashes. "Oh  _ fuck _ ."

She doesn't feature in the second paper, but the third has a small article about her drunken misbehaviour and the fourth, to her disgust, has a full page spread of pictures of her. Clarke, she realises after a minute, features in many of them. Though her eyeliner is smeared down her cheeks and her lip gloss is a little smudged, she is all raging fire and hot indignation as she shouts at the reporters and ushers Lexa into a cab and she feels her blood boil when her eyes glance over the text.

_ "Shown here with Clarke Griffin, who inside sources claim she is far more than just friends with- does this prim and proper ballerina have a closet to pirouette her way out of?" _

"Fuck!" The paper is cast to one side and Clarke, whose face has paled as she looked through first Lexa's phone and then the discarded papers, peers down at the article, cringing slightly. "I'm so sorry Clarke," she can feel the slightly hysterical tears building in her throat, gathering like a hard and heavy ball in her throat to linger there."I'm... I never wanted you to get mixed up in this. I don't even know how it happened, I didn't tell anyone where I was going."

"Lexa  _ no _ , I don't give a shit what they say." A hand darts out to settle over hers and squeeze comfortingly and she swallows against the lodging tightness in her throat. "Newspapers are just..." Clarke hesitates for just a second, jaw clenching as she shakes her head, "they're vile. They'll use you for their own gain."

She snorts softly, shaking her head a little. “Says the newspaper intern.”

Clarke’s expression does not waver however, remaining stoic and almost inwardly turned. “I’m serious Lexa. Don't let them get to you... what are they in comparison to you?" Lexa's eyes flit away, venturing down to the comforter but Clarke's fingers touch at her chin and cheeks, urging her gaze back to the blonde beside her. Blue eyes are wide when she finally meets them, serious and raging slightly, but the palm that rests over the curve of her jaw is gentle. "You're the best dancer in the country. You have  _ so much  _ ahead of you. Who cares about some stupid papers? They're  _ nothing _ , just slimy writers sitting at their slimy desks writing about other people because they're not interesting enough themselves." The words escape her like bullets, she practically spits them from between her teeth and Lexa can't help but smile a little.

"This could ruin me." She says after a moment, voice quiet and Clarke's mouth drops open to protest, brows creasing but Lexa's ringtone cuts her off.

Her eyes dart down to her phone and she swallows when she sees Indra's name in harsh, white letters across the screen. She reaches out, fingers hesitating and glances over at Clarke uncertainly, fumbling over her words.

"Hey, it's okay," Clarke lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder, already sliding from the bed and smiling, all soft lines and warm light and for a moment Lexa is tempted to let the call go to voicemail and pull Clarke back into bed. "Answer it," Clarke nods to the phone, "it'll be okay and I'll be out here when you're done."

With that she steps out, pulling the bedroom door shut behind her and Lexa spends another second watching her phone ring before steeling herself and sliding the screen, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello Indra."

"Hello Lexa," her mentor is worryingly calm, voice steady and a moment of silence passes between them before Indra says, dryly, "I see you've finally decided to speak to me."

"I wasn't-" she runs a hand over her forehead, the headache from the night before still pounding between her eyes, "I wasn't ignoring you Indra, I promise. I was sleeping."

"It's late," Indra observes, unnecessarily, "though I suppose you're tired after your night."

Lexa swallows, stomach tightening when her eyes dart back to the papers spread across the comforter. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising to me?" Indra's voice rises a little, irritation seeping through her tone and Lexa pulls her knees up to her chest, curling her free arm around them and press her chin against bare skin. "It's your career, if you choose to ruin it by going against everything Anya and I have ever worked for, that's your choice."

"I know I was wrong," she is cowed, no more than a little girl being scolded for ignoring her bedtime. "I'm sorry, you've both worked so hard-"

"We have always tried so hard to protect you, Lexa, to make sure that you can focus on your dancing and not be hounded by the press. But apparently you don't think that's necessary anymore?" She can practically see Indra's lips tightening with fury, "You just want to be a Kardashian now? Your face all over the papers?  _ Drunk _ ?"

"You know that's not fair! I can't just... live in the shadows Indra! There's more to life than just ballet!" She is momentarily fiery, her heart almost jumping from her chest when she hears Indra's long silence.

"Anya and I never intended for you to feel trapped Lexa," she sounds strangely uncertain, vulnerable before her voice hardens, "but we did intend for you to become the best dancer you can be and that means  _ discipline _ . You know that."

"I do," she deflates, rubbing the seam of the comforter between her fingers as she swallows past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry. Really, Indra. I do appreciate everything you and Anya have done for me..." her voice wavers and she tries to gather herself before continuing, "I know how much I owe you."

Indra seems to soften at her words, "we only want you to be happy Lexa. If what you want is changing..."

"It's not!" She cuts through the woman's words, "I promise," at Indra's approving noise, she continues, "I'll be in class today."

"Good, I will see you then."

"Yes." She hesitates again, "bye, Indra."

The line goes dead and she lets the phone sit in her hands for a moment, staring down at the dark screen. The papers are still in her periphery vision and she reaches out to sweep them off the bed and onto the floor, standing hurriedly. There's no way anyone could have known that she would be there, none of Clarke's friends knew who she was and the only one  _ she  _ had told was Vincent, who couldn't have told anyone unless he had suddenly grown thumbs. It was just dumb luck, she must have been spotted by someone at the concert or a random person outside.

With a huff she reaches out and pulls on a sweater and a pair of leggings, glad to cover up her suddenly chilled skin. The ice of Indra's voice still lingers in her veins and she takes time to brush out her unruly curls- sticky from sweat and god knows what else- and pin them into a tight bun at the crown of her head. The movements are as natural as breathing, her fingers quick and steady and when she wipes away the remnants of eyeliner smudged beneath her lashes she feels more like herself than she has all day.

Clarke is sat on the floor, to her surprise, and a pleasant smell is slipping through the apartment, tangy and mouth watering. Blue eyes and a wide smile greet her and Clarke gestures to the floor in invitation. She is sat with her legs spread, though she has thankfully slipped into some shorts, and two plates of grilled cheese and an open magazine sits between her legs. 

There's something about the comfort of seeing Clarke's welcoming smile, Clarke's easy, settled nature in her home that makes Lexa's heart stutter just once, a warm feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach and it's as though the cold of Indra's disappointment melts away at the sight of the blonde. She sits carefully opposite Clarke, who is bent forwards flicking through the magazine, and doesn't even raise her eyes to gesture to the untouched grilled cheese and steaming cup of camomile waiting for her.

"Thank you." The food is a great comfort and she can't help the moan that slips through her lips when she takes her first bite, smothering it with a blush.

Clarke is smiling again when she peers up at her, "grilled cheese is the best hangover cure."

"You're an expert?" Lexa cocks an eyebrow to hide her reddened cheeks, but almost spits out her tea when Clarke smirks.

"I'm a pro at most things," she watches Lexa attempt to swallow her tea with an amused twinkle in her eyes and then gestures to her legs, "look, I even stretched without my teacher having to tell me."

"Oh  _ that's _ what you were doing," Lexa sets down the plate in front of her, unfurling her legs from beneath her to mirror Clarke's position, their legs creating a diamond between them. "I thought you were propositioning me again." Her toes slide against Clarke's, curling gently, and the touch is so intensely intimate that her breath catches in her throat.

"Again?" Clarke splutters, outraged though she can't hide her smile. "How dare you!"

"You were the one who suggested we leave the bar." The words fall between them like bricks, crashing through the easy atmosphere and Clarke has to clear her throat and force her eyes from where they've dropped back to her magazine before she can answer.

"I was drunk Lexa, you can't use it against me if I can barely remember it myself."

"Yeah... I wasn't exactly sober myself." Nausea curls in her stomach and she drops her sandwich back onto the plate, her appetite vanishing with the easy, happy atmosphere that had lingered moments ago.

"Hey," it's the touch of Clarke's toes against hers, a soft brush over her foot that draws her eyes up to the tender gaze the blonde is giving her. "It's okay, you know? You're allowed to be a kid... you can't be any older than me."

"I'm nineteen," she swallows, tongue flicking out over her lips and Clarke's lips quirk up into an amused smile.

"I'm twenty one in a few months."

"Cougar," her cheeks flush even as she says it, but Clarke's full, beautiful laugh makes it worth it and when she watches the girl toss her head back from beneath her eyelashes, she can't help her smile.

"I'm serious Lex," Clarke speaks after a moment, abruptly serious again. "You're young and I know that you're focused and you have to be careful and all that but you're allowed to have fun-" Lexa opens her mouth to protest, but Clarke cuts through her with a knowing smirk, "- _ outside _ of the dance studio."

Lexa manages a half smile, but her chest flutters nervously again at Clarke's words and she swallows, gathers herself before refuting her. "This is important. Ballet jobs are so hard to find now... especially not worthwhile ones. I don't want to have to wait to be a prima until I'm twenty five and past my best dancing years, Clarke. And Anya and Indra are so disappointed in me." Her shoulders curl forwards with her words, like a flower wilting in upon itself and she draws her legs away from Clarke and up to her chest.

"Who cares?" Clarke is frowning, "they should judge you on your  _ dancing _ , not your personal life. And fuck Anya and Indra! You're your own person Lexa! You don't owe them anything!"

"I do!" Her voice breaks over her words and she winces at Clarke's curious expression, but can't stop speaking now that she's pushed through the floodgates, scrambling to her feet. "You have  _ no idea _ Clarke."

"You're a  _ person _ before you're a dancer Lexa!" Clarke rises too, following her as she turn on her heel and storms through to her bedroom, sliding her feet into sneakers and snatching her dance bag from the floor. "They're not your parents! You're not...  _ indebted _ to them."

"They made me who I am!" She whirls around to glare at the glare, cheeks flushing hotly with anger.

"That's ridiculous! They're controlling you!"

" _ You're  _ ridiculous," she snipes back, vindictively, trying to ignore the hurt that flashed through the blue eyes watching her, "I owe them everything! This," she gestures furiously to her dance bag, "is what I  _ am _ Clarke. And they created that."

She tries to stomp past the girl, barging through her bedroom door, but the hand around her arm drags her back, spinning her around to look at where Clarke stands, all fiery eyes and snarled mouth. "You're so much more than just a fucking ballet dancer, Lexa Woods. You're kind and caring and driven and  _ such an ass _ sometimes, but you're not just some person on a stage!"

Her voice catches in her throat and she tears her arm out of Clarke's grip, choking out her words. "I'm going to class. You know where the spare keys are, lock up when you leave."

With that, she's gone.

\---

The message that Anya wants to see her reached her the moment she stepped into the academy. People have been looking all day, whispering and she keeps her chin high, shoots them all glares as sharp as shattered ice and reminds herself that she is the best damn dancer in this school, even as her cheeks heat up. Indra takes her afternoon private. The school is only open to long term students on Sundays, those who have studied for three years or longer, so the halls are quieter but every face recognises her and she knows that plenty of them want to see her fall.

Anya is sat at her desk when she calls for Lexa to enter.

The room is lighter than usual, sunlight spilling in through the slanted blinds on the wide windows and Anya smiles at her, gesturing to the chairs on the other side of the desk. Lexa pads forwards in her ballet slippers, perching on the edge of one of the towering leather bound seats offered to her. She can't stand to look at Anya, so she plays with her fingers in her lap, her gaze focused on the edge of the desk.

"I'm glad you came to see me, Lexa."

When she finally manages to drag her eyes upwards Anya's fingers are steepled together and she is watching Lexa with a steady, calm gaze that is at once reassuring and unnerving.

"I'm always happy to see you," she swallows against her dry throat, licking her lips nervously as she continues to be observed.

"You're a most dedicated student, you always have been." Anya reaches languidly into her top desk drawer and Lexa thinks she might vomit when Anya spreads a newspaper over the desk, smoothing it out neatly. "This, however, is a little disappointing."

"I know." She is so quiet, she feels as if she is shrinking into the chair, no more than nine years old again, her feet barely brushing the floor as Anya scolds her.

"Lexa," her name draws her eyes back up again and she steels herself to meet Anya's gaze. "Calm down. This is not a catastrophe."

"But Indra said-" The words trip off her tongue before she can speak and she snaps her mouth shut at the sight of Anya's raised eyebrow.

"Indra," Anya speaks after a beat of silence, "does not trust the press in the slightest. I have a slightly more optimistic outlook."

"But this is awful," Lexa can't help but protest, eyes scanning back over the newspaper and she cringes.

"It isn't ideal," Anya corrects her, "but you've been illusive in the media for long enough. It could be a good thing that you've finally shown some... newsworthy interest." She folds the paper up carefully and it disappears back into her desk drawer. "It would have been far better if you'd spoken with me about it first though. This sort of activity is not only bad for you image, but for your body. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Not-um- not bad," her mouth pulls down at the corners and she glances away again as shame tints her cheeks, "not... good though either."

The sound of Anya's laughter makes her eyes snap straight back to the woman on the other side of the desk and she stares, amazed, as Anya shakes her head a little.

"I'm not surprised. You've lived a very sheltered life Lexa, you've always been very focused and I'm not astonished that you've suddenly lashed out. You were due to long ago, you never did have a rebellious stage."

"This isn't a rebellious stage." Lexa hurries to correct her.

Anya ignores her, leaning forward to place her elbows on the desk again, her face shifting into a beam of sunlight. "And what about the girl?" She asks softly.

"T-The girl?"

"Clarke." Anya says her name calmly, curling around the syllable as if she is familiar with it and Lexa's lungs constrict anxiously.

"Well she's- I mean we're partners for the pas de deux class and-"

"No, I know that." Anya waves her on with her hand. "I meant, is this a problem."

"I'm... we're just friends I swear..."

"Lexa." Anya's voice is suddenly sharp and she stands so abruptly that Lexa flinches back. With a hand supporter her heavily against the desk, Anya rounds it to sit in the chair beside Lexa, one hand reaching out to touch at her knee. It's so surprising, so startling that Lexa's eyes widen and dart between the hand and Anya's face. Aside from corrections to her form it's been years since Anya touched her. When she was young the woman would hug her, would pat her on the back for a job well done or hold her hand when they walked down the street together. But that had stopped not long after the accident and Lexa is as stiff as a board, almost trembling.

"Relax." At the word she lets out a breath, some of the tension flowing from her taut muscles and she manages to hold Anya's gaze when the woman says, so clearly that it's as if she's speaking from across the room. "I don't care if you and Clarke are together. I would  _ never _ care about anything like that. Don't feel as if you have to hide it from me."

"I-I-" her words are stuck in her throat, "okay."

"Good," seemingly satisfied, Anya pulls her hand away and fixes Lexa with a firm look. "That being said, if she is any sort of problem or nuisance for you, I can have you separated."

"Really?" She blinks at her mentor with a startled gaze, "I thought you were adamant that we would work together."

"That was before all of this. I didn't expect her to have... this sort of influence on you. Your safety always comes first Lexa. I'll ask Indra to split you up."

"No!" The word surprises even her and Anya cocks her head curiously at her outburst. "I mean... she's a good student. I don't want to lose her. And... she's a friend." Her cheeks heat up at that, but Anya's lips quirk up and she observes Lexa with an unreadable expression for a moment before nodding.

"Alright. If that's what you want."

"She is what I want," her blush flares across her necks and other the tips of her ears and she darts to correct herself. "I mean  _ it _ ! It... it is what I want."

\---

Her apartment is dark when she steps inside and it takes a second for her to realise she never opened the curtains when she stumbled out of it however many days ago. She fumbles for the light for a moment and when it clicks on she can't help but wrinkle her nose at the mess.

There is stuff flung on almost every surface, the evidence of an apartment that is barely lived in and she steps around it all to drop her backpack on the couch. With a harsh motion she yanks open the curtains on the one window and watery, grey light filters in, the sunlight blocked by the towering office building pressed close up to hers. She turns away from the view and looks over to her unmade bed, running an anxious hand through her hair as she observes the mess on every surface. For a moment she considers tidying, hears Octavia's words in her head.

" _ You'd feel more at home if you actually stayed there some time Clarke _ ."

Swallowing, she bends down to collect the laundry scattered on the floor.

She ignores the filled canvases that hide the chipped skirting boards.

Gathering the laundry does help her feels a little better and she dumps it all in the Ikea bag she swiped years ago, sliding it up against the bathroom door to tackle later. For now, she steps into the kitchen to open the fridge, which hums loudly in protest. The shelves are empty, as she knew they would be, save for a beer which her fingers hover over for a moment, before forgoing it and grabbing a carton of juice.

It's near empty, so she drains it without bothering with a glass. Her one house plant is dying beside her toaster and she frowns at it as she dumps the carton in the trash, eyeing it with distaste. Spider plants are supposed to be impossible to kill, but somehow she's succeeding.

"Exceptional work, Griffin." She mutters to herself as she takes the plant to the blessedly empty sink and waters in from the faucet.

Her nose wrinkles when she steps out of the tiny kitchenette to spot the empty bottles scattered around the bottom of the coffee table and she grabs a garbage bag to collect them, swallowing when her eyes catch sight of the canvases again and her fingers scrape over paint which has dried against the side of the wine bottle. A few brushes lie against an old newspaper on top of the coffee table, bristles stiff with old paint and her hands linger over them, but her gaze is fixed to the pile of letters beside them.

Most are red, with words such as URGENT and FINAL NOTICE printed on them in heavy letters and she wonders for a moment if she will be sick.

The letters join the bottles in the trash.

Levering herself up, she dumps the bag by her laundry and crouches to check the electric metre by the entrance. Ten dollars left. She shuts her eyes for a second, chewing on her lip and darting over to the wall to flick the light off. Her resentful gaze settles on the fridge again, where it's still humming and she thinks back to the beer on the shelf.

A knock on the door saves her from any further spiralling and she clears her throat, glancing back at the apartment anxiously before crossing back over to the door.

Octavia is smiling at her from the doorway, still wearing her apron and smelling distinctly of fresh coffee. A waft of the smell accompanies her when she opens the door and Clarke can't help but smile.

"Hi, Murphy said he saw you come upstairs earlier." Without any warning Octavia barges past her and into her apartment, pausing when she spots the canvases. Though the bottles are gone, she knows she isn't fooling the girl.

She can't stand the sympathy in Octavia's eyes when she turns back to her and she fidgets, looking away.

"Want to come downstairs?" Her friend's voice is soft and her smile is warm and comforting, everything this shabby apartment isn't. "Monty and Jasper are there, your friend Raven is with them I think. There's a cup of coffee waiting for you, on the house."

It's almost patronising, but she knows it comes from kindness and she could really, really do with some kindness today so she smiles and nods just as her phone begins to ring in her pocket.

"I'll meet you downstairs- large caramel macchiato?" Octavia smirks at her, edging out of the door as Clarke laughs, but she can't miss the anxious glance Octavia spares back at the canvases and she's glad when she can push the door shut on her, answering the phone without looking at the caller display.

"Hello?"

"Griffin, it's me again."

"Oh!" Her cheeks heat, dread stirs in her stomach and she leans back against the door. "Kane. Hi."

"Is it a more convenient time for you?" He's joking, but there's an edge to his voice and she flinches.

"Yeah, sorry about earlier."

"It's fine. And despite our competition we still managed to have the largest spread on Woods, so I'm happy, as I would have told you this morning had you not had a leaking apartment."

"My apartment isn't actually leaking." She rushes to clarify and he laughs.

"Good to hear it Griffin, can't have our best new scoop drowning."

"About that," she pushes her hand through her hair again, pushing off the door to pace the few steps it takes to get her to the window. "Do you have to be so... aggressive? It's just... cruel, don't you think?"

"That's the business, Griffin. We're not here to be  _ nice _ ."

"But still-"

"Griffin," he cuts her off impatiently and she can hear the bustle of the print room behind him, paper rustling and people hurrying about. "I'm not babying this girl just because you've formed an attachment. Now I need to know if you can still do this job, because if not I'll tell them to stop sending you those paycheques. Papers are dying, we don't have cash to spare."

"No!" Her heart jumps into her throat, "no please, I still want this."

"Good. Then start writing that final piece and in the mean time I expect a pap piece on Woods every three days, understand? We'll get a lot more interest if we can build up her image in the media. Can you handle it?"

"Yes." Her voice breaks, but blessedly he pretends not to notice. "Yes. I can."

\---

She must look as shaken as she feels when she steps into the coffee shop, because Octavia frowns at her from where she's clearing a table, gathering the mugs onto a tray and hurrying over to touch at her arm. Murphy is nowhere to be found and a quick glance to her left shows her friends gathered around the couches, laughing and talking loudly in the sunlight coffee shop. The sight alone makes her feel calmer and she is able to dredge up a small smile when Octavia asks.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Fine," she nods, but Octavia is still frowning at her and she pulls her by the arm across the shop and behind the counter, where she dumps the tray and informs her colleague, a nice girl called Niylah who always gives Clarke extra cream, that she's finished her shift.

Niylah smiles pleasantly, waving at Clarke, but before she can respond she is dragged behind the counter to the dim lockers. Octavia sheds her apron eagerly, shoving it away and unbuttons her work shirt to expose a dark crop top, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall over her shoulder in a messy mane.

"What's wrong?" She asks, bluntly, but her eyes are creased with worry and Clarke conjures a slightly more convincing smile.

"It's nothing really," Octavia remains unimpressed and she flounders for something to placate her, finally settling on: "Lexa and I... we've been sleeping together. More I mean. Than that one time in the showers."

Her cheeks heat when Octavia rolls her eyes and scoffs, but the band tightening around her chest loosens as the worry fades from her eyes. "Well  _ duh _ ," Octavia laughs.

"You don't think it's a bad idea?" She shifts, suddenly anxious, but Octavia places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently.

"As long as you're both careful... you don't want feelings to get hurt. But no, go for it. She's hot."

"Octavia," she rolls her eyes, but follows when the barista leads her back out in the coffee shop again. For the first time since Lexa left the apartment this morning she feels light, warm and happy and the smiles her friends give her when she settles down next to Raven on the couch is enough to make her forget about the apartment upstairs.

Octavia falls into Lincoln's lap, though her boyfriend seems to barely blink at the intrusion, wrapping at arm around her waist and holding her close without missing a beat of his conversation with Octavia's brother, whose brows furrow.

She tries to ignore the stab of jealousy she feels at their easy affection.

\---

"Hey, isn't that your ballerina?" Her eyes dart up at Jasper's words and she spins in her seat, twisting uncomfortably to peer across the coffee shop at where Lexa has hesitated in the doorway, hair still up in her neat bun, and is smiling hesitantly at them. She raises her hand in a half wave, uncertain, but Clarke's friends show less restraint and they holler her name until she is blushing and moves close to them.

She stands hesitantly at the back of the couch, so close that Clarke can smell her shampoo and she feels a rush of affection when she realises that Lexa is wearing one of her sweaters, discarded there after one of their nights together.

"Hi everybody," she does her awkward half wave again when they all call out greetings to her and Monty nods to the arm of the couch beside Clarke.

"Join us, Lexa."

"Alright," she is uncharacteristically soft and nervous, but Clarke catches her smile even as she ducks her head and perches delicately next to Clarke, toned legs bared by her shorts.

Clarke has to swallow against her suddenly dry throat.

She smiles up at Lexa unsurely. They had left things badly this morning, but Lexa seems distinctly calmer now, soft and quiet as she is and butterflies stir within her when Lexa offers her an answering smile, slightly wider than she gave the others.

"Hi," she speaks before she can think, tenderness touching every syllable and she blushes when Lexa's eyes widen a little.

"Hello." Lexa is fingering an old battered book in her lap, with letters Clarke can't understand on the cover.

"More Russian?"

Lexa's head dips in a nod and when a strand of hair escapes her bun Clarke is entranced as she watches fingers push it back behind her ear.

"How was class?"

"Good, thank you," Lexa hesitates, biting at her lip, and when she continues her voice is soft and she is frowning. "People were looking at me. I think they'd seen the news."

Clarke's brows furrow at the words and she can't help the hand that reaches out to brush against Lexa's thigh. The ballerina's head snaps up, sending the stray piece of hair flying in front her face again and wide green eyes watch her as she shakes her head. "Fuck them."

"I knew you would say that," Lexa smile, a rosebud flush dusting across her cheeks and Clarke just wants to reach out and brush her fingers along it, follow the track of the colours as they fade in and out of one another. "I'm sorry about this morning."

She's so distracted she almost misses her words, blinking up at her owlishly for a second before she shakes her head. "Uh, no it's fine. I'm sorry, I was out of line."

"We're both sorry," Lexa smiles at her, "shall we just agree to forgive and forget?"

"I would love that." Her words escape her on a breath, because Lexa is so very close and Clarke is entranced by the flush of her cheeks and the arch of her nose and the colour of her eyes until suddenly Lexa overbalances, toppling forwards from the arm of the couch to land with an unceremonial thump in Clarke's lap.

Laughter rings out from around them and even Lexa can't help but giggle, though she leans forward to hide her blush in Clarke's neck when Raven teases.

"I don't know about Swan Lake quite yet Lex..."

Clarke's arms curl around her, holding her close as Lexa glares at their neighbour from her place tucked into Clarke's shoulder. She tries to not meet Octavia's gaze, though she can see her raised eyebrow from the corner of her eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly very sorry for the amount of time this took me. I hope everyone who reads this fic is doing better after 3x07, I know it hit me harder than expected. I now have a full plan for this fic and a fairly empty summer coming up, so things are looking up. I'm going to beg for your patience though, because I'm going into my final year of university next year and I'm honestly always writing essays and tests etc so sometimes when it comes to having down time I just can't bring myself to write fic. Which is a real shame because I love it! But we'll see how it goes.  
> Thank you for your patience and for reading through this hefty note, please let me know either here or on tumblr (@onemilliongoldstars) what you thought. I love to talk headcanons and asks and anything to keep my inspiration up, especially over on tumblr because conversations are much easier there.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get messy... and happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments! hopefully this chapter helps people tonight, I'd recommend listening to songbird because that's what I wrote this to.

"Hey." Her arms wind around Clarke's waist, slipping beneath her oversized shirt to run her hands over warm, smooth skin and Clarke twists to smile at her and press a kiss to her jaw.

"Morning beautiful, good shower?"

The pet name brings a flush to Lexa's skin, but she nods and squeezes Clarke's waist once more before letting her go and pacing across the kitchen to pour a coffee from the pot that Clarke has made. It's still steaming hot and she inhales gratefully, cupping the mug between her hands and letting it warm her before sipping quietly. Her eyes wander back to Clarke and she is so busy admiring the long bare legs, the curve of her ass which is just visible beneath the long shirt as she flips pancakes from the skillet onto the waiting plate that she doesn't notice the blonde's frown.

"You're dressed." Clarke pouts at her and she laughs, edging closer again to duck her head and kiss it away.

"I have a meeting with Indra in 35 minutes," she reminds her, draining the rest of her coffee and rinsing out the mug in the sink.

"I guess that means you won't have time for these delicious pancakes?" Though she is teasing there's a note of disappointment to Clarke's voice and Lexa sighs quietly, leaving the mug to drain.

She grabs her water from the fridge, drops it into her dance bag. "Guess you'll have to eat them. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Clarke gestures to the brown paper bag beside her on the counter top as she flips the last pancake. "I thought you might be out early so I packed you a bagel. It's important to eat breakfast you know."

"You _never_ eat breakfast normally," Lexa points out, but kisses at Clarke's soft cheek again, murmuring, "thank you."

"I ate a very filling breakfast this morning," Clarke winks at her as she slides the last pancake onto the plate and clicks off the stove and Lexa feels the flush creep over her neck and onto the tips of her ears, her thighs clenching at the reminder even as she rolls her eyes.

"Gross Clarke."

"I quite enjoyed it actually." She leans forwards on the counter, cradling her coffee cup and taking a sip. "What's with the caffeine? I thought you were strictly a green tea kind of girl."

"Yes well, someone kept me up late," Lexa eyes her meaningfully, frowning, but Clarke just throws her head back to laugh, blonde curls making a waterfall down her back and her long throat scattered with evidence of Lexa's affections.

"You weren't complaining last night," she teases, but Lexa's attention has been caught by the paper hiding beneath a stack of magazines and she swallows nervously, yanking it out.

It's already open to the pictures of her and she sees Clarke glance away guiltily, her eyes falling to her coffee as Lexa stares down at the pictures. She's leaving the store, her hair thrown back into a messy braid, wearing an old sweater and running leggings. She's sweaty from her workout and startled from the sudden attention and the pictures follow her as she rushes from the store and down the street, in the opposite direction of her apartment. She'd walked for three blocks the wrong way, waiting for them to leave her alone before doubling back.

"You okay?" Clarke brushes her fingertips against Lexa's tight knuckles and she swallows, folding away the pictures to shove the paper in the trash. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Clarke is quiet and when her touch drops away Lexa shakes her head, letting out a long sigh.

"No, it's okay. It doesn't matter."

"It's the third one this week," Clarke is chewing on her lip, watching Lexa intently and she struggles to keep a straight face under the scrutiny. "Is it bothering you?"

"What does it matter?" She laughs bitterly but Clarke frowns and suddenly hands are on her hips, pushing her back against the counter so that Clarke can lean in and press a kiss to her jaw and then chasing her way up to Lexa's lips.

Lexa runs her hands behind Clarke's neck, threading them in her hair and tugging playfully. "There's nothing we can do."

"I'll stop them," Clarke promises, so seriously that Lexa has to let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh really?" She cocks an eyebrow, "what will you do? Go after them with a baseball bat?"

"If I have to." Clarke is still deadly serious, "you know I read somewhere that Kristen Stewart flips paparazzi the bird so that they can't sell their pictures to the press. You could do that."

Lexa chuckles again and even Clarke cracks a smile. "That's not really... me." She grabs the bagel from the counter, leaning in to kiss the blonde again, their noses brushing as Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa's waist for a moment, before pulling away.

"Get going, you'll be late."

"Yes ma'am," she can't resist pressing one last kiss to her nose before breaking away from the circle of Clarke's arms to grab her dance bag. She lingers at the door, watching as Clarke potters around the kitchen, dropping the skillet into the sink. "Have a good day."

Clarke looks over to her and the smile on her face is like gentle evening sunshine, soft and affectionate even as she shakes her head. "You too. Now _go_."

Lexa leaves her apartment smiling.

\---

The slam of newspapers down on the desk is so loud that Lexa jumps. Indra is glaring at her, back straight and one hand on her hip and Lexa swallows, glancing between the stack of papers and Indra's furious expression. Carefully, as if worried of startling the woman, Lexa peels herself away from the picture she had been examining on the wall while Indra looking through her drawers, and takes a few steps closer to the desk, her hands resting against the back of one of the chairs.

She doesn't need to get any closer, she knows exactly what are in those papers.

"You've been keeping up with the press then?" Her voice is tight and high, anxious and Indra grunts, spreading the papers across her desk in a mortifying fan of black and white.

"Have you been involved with this?" Indra can't seem to look at her, is still staring down at the papers.

"No." Lexa answers, simply.

"Then _how_ has this happened?"

"I don't know," she sags a little against the back of the chair. "I've not changed my routines, I'm doing what I've always done I just... they've caught my scent." Her nose wrinkles at the analogy.

"That's ridiculous. Anya and I have always protected you from them, we've always made sure you were safe. This can't have just _happened_." Indra is scowling down at the press so hard that Lexa thinks she might burn a whole through the desk, but her head snaps up at Lexa's words.

"Maybe you don't have to anymore."

Indra blinks at her. "What?"

"I just mean..." she can feel herself becoming nervous, the hotness in her cheeks and the churning of her stomach and makes a conscious effort to straighten her back and clasp her hands behind her back. "I'm not a child any more. When I go off to a company in September I'll have to look after myself and... you know, I need to be ready for things like this."

" _If_ you go to a company in September," Indra counters her, "we will be sure to set you up with a PR person, someone experienced enough to handle this sort of thing. Someone who can _protect you_."

"You're missing the point," she tries to keep her frustrations in check. "I'm saying maybe I don't need protection. Maybe this isn't a bad thing."

"Isn't a bad thing?" Indra echoes, staring at her.

"Well Anya said that the publicity could be a good thing!" She can feel her temper flaring again, her voice rising without her permission and she clenches her jaw. "Jobs are hard to get now... surely having some focus in the media will only help me? I understand why you sheltered me when I was younger but now I need this boost if I want to be a prima before I'm 21!"

"So this is tactical?" Indra demands, gesturing angrily to the papers, "you're telling me this is what you _want_? This is why your commitment has wavered?"

" _Wavered?"_ the word falls flat between them and Lexa stares at her teacher, floundering for words. "I... I have not wavered Indra! I've always been dedicated, for twelve whole years! That isn't about to change now!"

"Really? You've been leaving the studio earlier Lexa! I see you in your privates with the Griffin girl, all talk and no dance! You may think you're the best dancer in the city but there are plenty of ballerinas in this school alone who are at your heels and they are practicing _day and night_."

"I know that!" She's flushing again, shame and embarrassment clogging her throat. "I'm not an idiot Indra! I'm still practicing! I still love dance more than anything else in the world!"

"Then you'd better start showing it!" Indra slams her hands down on the desk and Lexa jumps again, flinching back a step. "Because otherwise everything you worked for... everything _we_ worked for will go down the drain. A wasted twelve years. Now get out of my office and show me you really care about your place in this school."

\---

Dusk hangs heavy in the air when she climbs off the bus, thanking the driver in a soft voice. Every footstep hurts and she hesitates in the shelter, peering past it to where the bright lights of the cafe shine out at her, anxiety curdling in her stomach. Reaching into her pocket, Lexa scoops out her phone and dials Clarke's number again, waiting with the device pressed against her ear until it once again falls straight through the voice mail. Her chest constricts at the sound and her eyes are blurry as she stabs at the end call button.

She thinks about staying where she is, catching the next bus to anywhere and sitting on a sidewalk somewhere until she'd compressed her tears far enough that they turn into a tiny, hard ball that sits in her stomach. The thought of being found by the paparazzi is terrifying though, so she glances back to the cafe, tells herself this is simply professional and steps out into the humid night air again.

It's warm inside, though every window is open, and very quiet. Lexa is the only patron and she pauses when she sees a girl she doesn't know sorting through the coffee on the counter, busying herself as she waits for closing time. For a second she considers turning on her heel and escaping while she still can, but a voice catches her attention and the iron band around her ribs relaxes a little at the sight of Octavia stretching up from where she's wiping down a table.

"Hey Lex, how are you?" The easy nickname makes her smile a little, despite her atrocious day and she closes the space between them.

"Fine," her answer is automatic and distinctly not true, "how was your day at work?"

"Ugh, alright I guess," Octavia cocks her hip against the table, rolling her eyes, "some kid spilt their hot chocolate all over the floor so that was fun and the toilet blocked again because my boss," here she raises her voice so that it carries through the shop, "is an _ass wipe_ who doesn't call the repair guy."

Lexa glances nervously to the counter, noting the smile on the other waitress's face. "Won't that get you in trouble?"

"Who cares?" Octavia pushes the damp cloth into the pocket of her grey apron, where it proceeds to start making a large dark patch, "I'm going to start touring with my band soon anyway. Oh hey," she fishes in her back pocket and pulls out a handful of folded fliers, "pin these up around your school for me? You guys are all arty and shit and we need as much publicity as we can get."

"Of course," she hold the fliers carefully between both hands, "I was actually wondering whether Clarke was here but clearly..." she nods at the empty space a little redundantly and Octavia shakes her head.

"No, we close soon. Clarke is upstairs."

"Upstairs?" She frowns, eyes snapping back to Octavia creased with confusion.

"Yeah? In her apartment?" Octavia looks at her like she's being stupid and starts back across the cafe. "First floor, apartment 2. Just buzz and she'll let you up, I'm sure."

"T-Thank you," she stumbles over her words, hesitating in the doorway, unsure how to get away quickly but Octavia just waves at her.

"Go see your girlfriend, Woods, she could probably do with having you around right now. I'll see you later."

"Sure, later. Um- thank you Octavia." She is reeling over the word _girlfriend_ , her heart thumping even as she makes her escape from the cafe and she spies the door to the right, dark and beaten up and realises with a jolt that _of course_ Clarke lives here, she had driven her home once and she remembers that door, remembers Clarke standing in the rain and staring at the road willing herself to just drive away, though she couldn't.

She presses at the button for the first flat, lets it buzz for a moment and waits. Nothing happens and she almost turns and walks to the bus stop, but the intercom crackles into life and she hears Clarke's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me," the words spill out of her mouth, "it's- it's Lexa I was just... hoping I could come up." She glances backwards nervously, the last thing she wants to do is lead any paparazzi to Clarke's door.

" _Lex_? Yeah, of course, come in." There's another buzz, louder and deeper and the door yields under her hand.

There's a rickety set of stairs up to the first floor landing and when she steps in it is completely dark so she fumbles with her phone to find the torch. It's even smaller and dingier than her own place and she wrinkles her nose when she sees the mould growing up the side of the wall, cringing away and hurrying her steps. Clarke's is not the only door on this floor and the stairs continue upwards, but the blonde is stood in her doorway, smiling and she winces when she sees Lexa's torch.

"Ah, sorry yeah, they haven't fixed the light," she steps back, ushering Lexa into her apartment and pushes the door firmly shut behind them, clicking on the deadlock.

Lexa hesitates, eyes flicking around the space and she swallows a little. It's small, like her own, though it's a studio apartment. The kitchenette stands directly to her right, a tiny fridge and a few dented countertops stuffed with old appliances. A plant pot sits in the sink, sad and bedraggled and one of the cabinets is missing a handle, only an old nail poking out to help open it. It takes one more step to get to the couch, old and lumpy though it's covered by a nice throw and a few mismatch cushions, and the dark coffee table. To the left of that Lexa can just see the edge of a bed poking out from an alcove. But she is most caught by the art on every surface. Canvases and scraps of paper line the room, some tacked to the wall and some thrown in haphazard piles or propped up. Paint can be seen on the throw over the couch and the wall and most of the artwork is all abstract, dark colours and furious brush strokes, with the exception of one.

It's a picture of her. She has fallen asleep reading on her favourite chair in her apartment. The book still sits in her lap, resting on top of Vincent's back and plants line the windowsill behind her head, warm afternoon light spilling in to linger in unruly curls and cast shadows. It's nothing like the rest of the art, it's out of place with earthy tones, natural and peaceful and Lexa doesn't realise she's stood in front of it until Clarke speaks nervously.

"It's not... done." When Lexa manages to tear her eyes away and glance at Clarke she is rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. "I took a picture of you a while ago, it was my reference." Blue eyes dart up to her anxiously, "are you... bothered?"

"It's beautiful," she finally manages to find her voice. "You're... so talented."

"Thank you," Clarke's smile grows and she sits on the couch, offering the seat beside her and Lexa follows, toeing her shoes off and leaving them neatly next to the couch before she draws her feet up beneath herself. "What's up?" Clarke is looking down at her phone, frowning, "you've called me... _a lot_. What's wrong?"

"I just... I wanted to see you," she is embarrassed for a second, but then Clarke looks at her properly and she blinks when she realises that her eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed, cheeks dry and she is wearing an oversized jumper which she keeps tugging down over her paint splattered hands, despite the heat outside. "What's wrong, Clarke?"

"What?" The blonde seems startled, eyes flicking away, "nothing, nothing."

"Don't lie to me," her brows pull together, reaching out to touch her knee, "what's going on Clarke? Are you safe?"

"Yes, of course I'm _safe_ Lexa, don't be ridic-"

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"I can tell that you've been crying, why won't you-"

"My mom called!" She explodes at last, so loud that Lexa blinks at her, staring in surprise, "okay? Alright?"

Clarke is basically bristling beside her, vibrating with the strength of her anger and Lexa is silent for a moment, hesitating.

"And you don't want to talk to her?"

"I-" Clarke's mouth snaps shut and she swallows heavily, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she sucks in a breath through her nose. When she speaks again it is quiet and calm. "No. We don't get on. She shouldn't have my number."

Lexa shifts uncomfortably on the couch, her hands running over her knees nervously. "You don't give your own mother your number?"

"We're estranged." Clarke tells her, at last and the words feel so finite that Lexa just nods, eyes darting away from Clarke to gaze down at the floor, tracing the grains in the gnarled floorboards.

"What about you? What brought you here?" Clarke's fingers touch her knee, drawing Lexa's eyes back up and she offers Lexa a small smile.

"I had an argument with Indra." She runs the tip of her finger over Clarke's hand, following the lengths of her fingers and the curve of her thumb to avoid meeting Clarke's eyes. "And I had... a pretty bad day."

"It's late," Clarke frowns, her thumb running a soothing circle over Lexa's legs. "Have you been at the studio all this time?" When she nods Clarke is silent for a moment before standing so quickly that Lexa looks up. She paces across the apartment to drag a storage box out from under the unmade bed and pull out a folded towel.

"Here," she slings it over her arm, "you're taking a shower and sleeping here."

"I.... I'd like that," Lexa fights the smile threatening to split her face, "thank you Clarke." She stands to join the girl and Clarke wraps a hand around her waist and squeezes, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"No problem," Clarke lets her go, stepping over to the kitchenette and smiling, "now take a shower, I'll order take out."

\---

The only warning of Lexa’s approach is the soft pad of bare feet across the linoleum floor of the kitchenette. Clarke turns from where she is piling food from steaming take out boxes into bowls and smile at the sight of Lexa with wet hair loose around her cheeks and clothes that hang from her thin frame, an old sweater and pair of sweatpants that Clarke bought years ago, the name of a college she never graduated from emblazoned in white letters across them.

“Hey,” she reaches out to where Lexa is lingering, a foot of space between them, and urges her closer as she continues to dole out food. She can’t seem to help herself, can never stop her fingers from inching towards Lexa and curling through hers, as if her heart might stop beating if she doesn’t touch her. “Did you have a good shower?”

“Yes, thank you.” Lexa’s voice is soft and nervous, though she allows herself to lean a damp head against Clarke’s shoulder briefly. “And thank you for the clothes. And the food.”

“Quit thanking me,” she nudges her gently, sliding a bowl across the counter towards her. Lexa inhales and a grateful moan slides from between her lips.

“I haven’t had take out in a long time,” she admits, blushing, when she catches Clarke’s smirk.

“Nothing wrong with treating yourself from time to time.” Clarke scoops up two bottles of beer, ushering the girl towards the couch and settling beside her, cracking both bottles open.

“Your artwork is really astonishing Clarke,” Lexa twirls noodles up neatly on her fork, piercing a piece of chicken even as her eyes linger on the filled canvases around the room. “Why did you never tell me how good you are?”

“I’m not that good,” she can feel her cheeks heating up, her eyes falling down to her bowl as Lexa frowns at her, noodles tumbling from where her fork is frozen between her mouth and her bowl. “It’s just… a hobby really.”

“I thought…” Lexa seems to hesitate, glancing from her food and then back up to Clarke, “I thought you said you didn’t do it anymore?”

She chews on her food, rolling it around in her mouth for a minute while she thinks of her answer. “I suppose… I don’t really consider some of this art.” She can’t look at Lexa so she fixes her gaz on a painting across the room, her eyes sliding through the thick, dark layers of paint that fall over the canvas. “It’s just… feelings. And, y’know, not great ones.”

“Hey,” Lexa’s fingers touch at her knee very gently, pulling her attention back to where ernest green eyes are watching her. “Anything can be an art. Just because yours is filled with genuine feelings doesn’t mean that it’s bad or not legitimate. Please don’t say that what you’re doing here isn’t beautiful.”

Her cheeks are heating again, her throat tightening and she thinks, for just a second, of being stood in the middle of the room, staring at one of those dark canvases with her mother’s voice scratching down the phoneline, and she has to swallow heavily. Her voice is tight when she gestures back at Lexa’s bowl. “Shut up, you’re making me blush. Eat your food, you charmer.”

Lexa is flushing again, a gentle rosebud colour that is both infuriating and adorable and she turns hurriedly back down to her food.

“Anyway,” Clarke continues, her eyes watching Lexa steadily as she speaks. “I’ve found a more interesting subject recently.”

Lexa’s cheeks heat up again, much to her glee and she can’t hide her smile as she goes back to her food, her heart light despite the darkness surrounding them.

\----

“Fuck… Clarke _please_.” Lexa is right where Clarke likes her. Beneath her, one hand grasping at Clarkes bare back and the other tangled in the bed sheets beside her head. Her body is as tense as a violin string and she keens and whines as Clarke’s finger’s skillfully play with her cunt, two fingers drawing in and out of her wetness while the other circles her clit maddeningly slowly.

“What do you want?” She presses a kiss to Lexa’s lips, a gentle peck, a reminder to use her words.

“More, more please-” Her words choke off into a strangled moan as Clarke’s fingers curl inside of her.

“More what?” Clarke asks innocently and the fingers on her back give way to nails, digging in deep and making her groan and nip at the skin of Lexa’s collarbone in reprimand.

“More… _more_ …” Lexa is basically incoherent now, her eyes squeezes tightly shut, her hips rising from the bed to meet every thrust that Clarke makes and she’s about to be lenient when Lexa lets out a strained breath and begs. “Make me _cum_!”

So Clarke does as she is asked, her fingers speed and her thumb presses down and moments later Lexa’s mouth is open in a silent, wordless scream, her head tipped back as she arches off the bed and her chest heaves with breaths.

When she finally comes down, Clarke’s fingers guiding her, they lie in Clarke’s bed, both breathing heavily and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that leaves their skin shining in the fairy lights Clarke has strung on the ceiling. Lexa is still trembling a little from the aftershocks of her orgasm and when Clarke drags her fingers back up from where they sit in between her legs, she shudders at the touch. The blonde laughs and leans in to press kisses to the soft skin underneath her jaw and down towards her nipples, worshipping the swell of her breast. Lexa shivers again, her fingers tangling in Clarke’s hair and drawing her up greedily towards her lips, kissing her firmly and Clarke can’t help but smile.

“You’re good at that,” Lexa breathes against her lips and Clarke tumbles forward to bury her head into the crook of Lexa’s neck, laughing into her skin.

“Anytime gorgeous.”

Lexa’s eyes fall closed as she catches her breath, melting back into the bedsheets.

Clarke leans up on an elbow, gazes down at her for a few long moments and traces the rise and fall of her silhouette in the dim light. Her skin is soft and smooth, bathed in the light from the streetlamp, falling in a stark strip through the darkness from the gap in the curtains. Hair tangled, lashes like dark feathers against her cheek, Clarke’s fingers itch for the first time in years for the charcoal and pad still shoved at the back of her bedside drawer.

“You’re beautiful, y’know.” She is treated to the sight of Lexa’s small, bitten back smile and the flush travelling over her chest and winding up her neck and into her cheeks.

“And you call me charming?” She twists and her eyes flicker open to gaze up at Clarke, soft and gentle and kind and Clarke can’t help but reach out and brush a hand down her cheek.

“It’s not charming if I’m telling the truth.” She can’t keep her eyes away from Lexa’s skin, can’t remember a time when she didn’t know how to count her way up the freckles stretched like a constellation over Lexa’s stomach and she brushes against her cheek again. “Would you mind if I painted you?”

“Painted me?” Lexa is still flushing, but she frowns, eyes darting to where the traitorous canvas sits across the apartment. “I think you already did?” She is joking, but Clarke can hear the undercurrent of hesitation under her amusement.

“No,” Clarke’s fingers trail down her cheek and over the smooth arch of her neck, to her shoulders. “I mean like paint _on you_. Paint your skin.”

“My skin? Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Clarke immediately retreats, pulling her hand away as she speaks.

“It doesn’t matter- I was just curious, I’m sorry.”

“Clarke,” Lexa’s fingers catch hers, dragging them back as she sits up. “I wasn’t saying no, I was just surprised. I’m happy for you to paint me, so long as it’s safe.”

“Of course it is,” she reaches forwards to press a quick kiss to Lexa’s lips. “Thank you,” the words dust along her collarbones, settling over her skin and Clarke slides off the bed. “Lie on your front?”

She gathers her supplies as Lexa does what she’s told and she returns to the bed to the sight of the brunette stretched out happily on the sheets, her arms folded beneath her head and her hair pulled over over shoulder, the sheet just covering the curve of her ass, much to Clarke’s regret.

“You look beautiful,” Clarke can’t help herself as she clambers onto the bed beside her and Lexa smiles.

“You already said that.”

“It’s still true,” she counters and swings a leg over Lexa’s body, settling into a straddle over her ass and is gratified at the sound of a soft gasp escaping from the girl beneath her. A smirk dances across her lips and she watches Lexa roll her eyes and bury her head a little more in the pillow, giggling when she mutter, disgruntled.

“Shouldn’t you be painting?”

Clarke only hums in response, leaning down to run her hands the length of Lexa’s back. Her fingers follow the curve of her spine, dipping down the small of her back to slide over her shoulder blades, rubbing softly. Beneath her, Lexa’s body gently uncurls under the touch, melting down into the mattress and she draws her hands back down, brushing the swell of her breasts, the edge of her hips and her ribs and Lexa lets out a long, quiet sigh and her eyes flicker shut. Clarke repeats the motion, enjoying the warmth of pale skin beneath her fingers and the softening of strong muscles until finally Lexa is breathing so steadily that Clarke thinks she might have lulled her to sleep.

Carefully, she reaches over to where her palette and paints sit beside her on the bed and nimble fingers begin mixing and blending.

“This is going to be cold,” she warns in a whisper, but Lexa barely grunts in response so she dips her brush in the pale blue and swathes an experimental line across Lexa’s back.

The brunette jolts, though Clarke’s body keeps her fairly still and she twists to blink at Clarke owlishly.

“It’s cold!”

“I tried to tell you,” she leans forwards to steal a kiss from her and feels Lexa smile against her lips. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” Lexa shakes her head, burrowing back down into the pillow and closing her eyes again. “I’m ready this time. Keep going.”

Clarke obediently continues. She covers Lexa’s back in the delicate blue and soon Lexa barely flinches at the touch of her paintbrush, though she squirms and giggles when the bristles tickle her sensitive sides.

“Have you ever painted anyone before?” Lexa’s voice is sleepy and soft and Clarke glances up from where she’s mixing a new colour to see the girl looking at her from between slitted eyes.

“No,” she brings her brush back to Lexa’s skin, blending the darker colour into the background and Lexa shifts beneath her a little.

“Why not?”

Clarke continues to paint for a few more moments while she thinks, but Lexa waits patiently for her to answer. “This is intimate,” she says at last, “don’t you think? I couldn’t do this with many people.”

“I suppose so.” Lexa hesitates, “have you never been… this close to someone before?” The words seem anxious and uncertain, sitting awkwardly between them and Clarke rolls her eyes, tickling at Lexa’s side until she flinches away and squeals softly in response.

“I wasn’t a virgin when we had sex, if that’s what you’re asking,” she responds bluntly and the way that Lexa cringes in embarrassment and flushes tells her all she needs to know.

“I just… we never talked about it,” Lexa groans and buries her head in her hands, flustered.

“Hey no,” Clarke leans forwards to touch her hair carefully, “It’s okay, better to be safe and communicate.” When Lexa reluctantly draws up her head, she continues, “You… weren’t were you?”

“No,” Lexa shakes her head, her eyes darting away to look at the coverlet. “This girl… when I was 18.”

It feels important and Clarke pauses in her painting to ask, quietly. “Was she someone special?”

“Just a girl,” her gaze flickers to Clarke and then anxiously away again. “I’ve, um… never felt like this before.”

The words hit her like a truck, her heart soaring and her breath is caught in her throat for a moment as Lexa’s eyes flicker up to her anxiously. A smile curls her lips before she realises and her fingers itch to touch the girl’s skin, to be closer to her. She feels as if she could burst, as if the light inside her is building up so strongly that it should soon shatter outwards and blind the world and so all she can do is fall forwards and kiss Lexa firmly.

The girl responds almost instantly, fingers trailing down the edge of Clarke’s jaw and when they are finally forced to separate Clarke glances down and groans quietly.

“What?” Lexa strains to look over her shoulder, eyes widening when she sees the dark paint smudged all over Clarke’s stomach and breasts. “Oh my god, Clarke!”

“Damn,” she rolls her eyes, placing her paints on the bedside table so that she can press another kiss to Lexa’s cheek.

“Stop it!” she squirms beneath her, mouth gaping. “You’re wrecking the painting.”

“Uh, babe it’s already wrecked,” Clarke dusts her lips down Lexa’s jaw. “It’s all over my tummy.”

“But what about the sheets?” Lexa is still holding her at bay, her eyes anxious.

“They’re already wrecked, might as well leave them now.”

“But-”

“There’s already paint everywhere!” As if to prove her point, she grabs her paintbrush and dots Lexa’s chin with a splotch of residue indigo and Lexa gasps in outrage. The girl tries to twist over and tackle Clarke, but the blonde has the upper hand and tickles her until she turns onto her back, smudging the painting into the white sheets. Clarke pins her down, lacing their fingers together to draw them up above Lexa’s head and hold them there as she struggles half heartedly.

“Don’t worry baby,” Clarke pecks at the tip of her nose, grinning. “The colour suits you.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Lexa informs her haughtily and Clarke laughs again, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“And you are special to me.” Lexa stills beneath her and Clarke slowly draws her hands, giving Lexa her freedom. “I mean it,” she says, quietly. “You’re special to me as well. I’ve never felt this way before.”

This time, when Lexa brings their lips together and gently tips her onto her back, Clarke lets her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully everyone is alright tonight, please feel free to come to my ask box on tumblr (@onemilliongoldstars) if anyone feels unsafe or sad after tonight's episode. I won't be watching live and I urge you not to, wait until the summaries are posted and then decide if you'll be safe to watch it. Check out the amazing billboards the movement have got put up and look into the twitter trends if you want to! It would be good to go out with a bang, kru. I'll still be here writing, I have at least two fics in the works! hit me up here or on tumblr, I love talking to you guys!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hardest conversations tend to happen over bottles of vodka. 
> 
> tw: slight alcohol abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand we're back! New fics coming this fall! Keep an eye open. Thank you for all of your feedback, it keeps me going, you're all frankly wonderful.

Chapter nine

She slams through the door, letting it bang wildly against the wall and Anya’s head startles up to stare at her from across her desk. Her eyes are wide, bewildered and then her expression turns to fury before she sees the agony written into every line of Lexa’s body, the crumpled letter clutched between her fingers like a life line. 

“Let me call you back,” she says into the phone pressed to her ear and stands, crossing the space between them as quickly as possible. 

Lexa is still trembling, her jaw locked to keep in her tears and Anya’s gentle touch to her shoulder makes her jerk in surprise. Anya draws away, hesitating, but Lexa swallows heavily and then the tension runs from her body as she slumps forwards and falls into Anya’s open embrace. Familiar arms, long and strong, wrap around her back and shoulders and she crumples Anya’s shirt beneath her fingers, clinging to her. A hand curls around the back of her neck, stroking at the soft baby curls falling from her messy bun and a shudder runs through Lexa’s body. Her eyes are stinging with tears, her chest shattering under the weight of her pain and Anya soothes her gently, leading her towards one of the chairs sat across from her desk and helping her sit. 

Lexa’s shoulder slump forwards again and she buries her face in her hands as Anya draws the other chair closer and places a hand on her knee, squeezing it gently. It takes a few minutes for Lexa to gather herself enough to speak and when she looks up, cheeks blotched and lashes wet, Anya offers out a glass of water insistently until the girl takes it between two hands and drains it. 

“Feel better?” Anya asks, when Lexa has finished the glass and she nods silently, placing it back onto the desk so she can fiddle with her fingers in her lap. “Good,” her mentor withdraws her hand from her knee and Lexa misses the weight instantly. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Lexa swallows, her throat tight with unshed tears and passes her the crumpled letter in place of an answer, slipping off her shoes and curling up into the seat. Anya smooths the paper out, her brows furrowing as she reads and Lexa’s shoulders tighten and curl inwards. 

“Lexa? You got a place with the Bolshoi? This is excellent news!”

“As an  _ understudy _ !” Lexa lashes out furiously, her voice ricocheting off the high ceilings to bounce back down to them. “An understudy, Anya!”

“Alexandria,” Anya is stern and serious, “you know that an understudy is as crucially important as a principal dancer.”

“I won’t  _ dance _ !”

“You will when it’s important,” Anya snaps back, frowning, “you know that it’s a difficult role to play, you’ll have to pick up corrections when you watch the dancers in rehearsal, you’ll have to know every dance without rehearsal. You are talented and motivated enough for this role, Lexa.”

“Don’t you understand?” Lexa stands suddenly, snatching the letter from Anya’s hands and waving it angrily. “I don’t want to be an understudy! I deserve more! I didn’t work this hard for this long to waste my best dancing years in the shadows!”

“Alexandria!” Anya struggles to her feet, towering a few inches above Lexa despite her cane. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re a talented dancer, but no one is a prima in their first company. Everyone is part of the corps at some point, I was.”

“But I’m not even part of the corps!” Lexa swallows back another sob, crumpling the letter into a tight ball in her hands. “I’m a  _ fucking understudy _ .”

“Watch your language!” Anya steps forwards and Lexa can’t help but stumble back a pace, “I am still your teacher here, Lexa. Calm down, get some space from the studio and you’ll see that you’re over reacting. I warned you that the Bolshoi would be hard to get into and this is your proof. Listen to me now.”

“You never thought I could do it.” Her heart plummets, stomach swooping sickeningly and she takes another staggered step away. “You thought… I was just some kid you picked up off the streets… you never thought I could actually get into the Bolshoi.”

“You’re not being fair, Lexa-” Anya’s face is stone, hard and disappointed but Lexa has already turned on her heel, fleeing the office, the door slamming behind her. 

\----

She barely holds it together on the bus to Clarke’s. She’s too tearful to drive, can barely see the summer storm raging on the street through the bus windows. Silent tears pour down her cheeks, the only sign of her distress and she holds the letter so tightly between her fingers that when she finally manages to unwrap her fist there are tiny paper cuts on the tender skin of her palm. Her chest heaves and shudders and she can’t help but look down when her phone goes off for the fifth time. Three missed calls from Anya light up her screen, another from Indra, but this time it’s Raven’s name that lights up the screen and she frowns. 

Sniffing, she reluctantly answers, raising her phone to her ear. 

“Lexa?” Raven’s voice is distantly anxious, “are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Her voice is cracked and trembling and her cheeks heat up when a few people on the bus glance at her out of the corners of their eyes. “What?”

“Lexa! Lexa, are you okay? Where are you?” 

“Why do you want to know?” She snaps, shortly and hears Raven hesitate. A brief muffled whispering crackles down the line.

“I’m here with Anya,” Raven admits at last, reluctantly, “she’s worried about you, said you were really upset. Just let us know where you are, Lexa. We can help you-”

She hangs up the phone and promptly turns it off. 

The door is just swinging shut behind a suspiciously seedy looking guy with a large beanie when Lexa arrives at Clarke’s apartment. She catches the door and slides into the small hallway, wrapping her arms around her waist as she climbs the stairs. She’s still trembling a little, her cheeks sticky with tears that seem to have finally run dry and her rage pulses in her stomach like a heavy ball of molten metal, hot and hard and heavy. 

She doesn’t pause before knocking on Clarke’s door, a few harsh raps and she hears a few muffled curses from inside, the sound of an odd bang- as if Clarke has fallen into the wall- before it swings open to reveal the blonde. She smiles instinctively at the sight of Lexa, her hair up in a messy bun, sweatpants and comfortable socks wrinkling around her ankles. There’s a nice smell from inside and the sound of voices chattering from the TV and Lexa’s shoulders finally unfurl, just slightly. 

“Lex!” Clarke beams, but her smile quickly falls from her face when she sees Lexa’s blotchy cheeks and the slight quiver in her fingers. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Do you have vodka?” Lexa’s voice is scratched, deep and throaty and she steps gratefully into the apartment when Clarke opens the door a little wider and gestures her inside. 

“Yeah,” Clarke sounds startled, frowning at her, “yeah I do but- Lexa what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I need a drink,” she confesses, bluntly and Clarke just nods, drawing her into the kitchenette. 

Clarke doesn’t press her for the time being, but she also doesn’t let go of Lexa’s hand as she pulls a bottle of vodka from one of the bare cupboards, sliding a few shot glasses up next to it. She releases her to open the bottle, but her arms slides right back around Lexa’s waist as she pours their shots and she wordlessly passes one over to the girl. 

Lexa throws hers back without meeting Clarke’s gaze and coughs as the awful liquid catches at her throat. The arm around her waist guides her out of the kitchenette and across the small apartment, but she can only sit stiffly on the edge of the soft couch even as Clarke urges her to relax. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarke sits close but doesn’t try to touch her again, watches her carefully as if she’s worried she might shatter at any moment. “Or do you want to just watch some more of this movie with me? I have some leftover lasagne, have you eaten?”

“No,” her lips are tight, her brows pulled taut and she hurries to amend herself at the sight of hurt flickering through Clarke’s eyes. “No, I mean thank you but- I’m fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I didn’t even  _ call _ -” Embarrassment crashes through her like a new tide and she stands abruptly, making to leave before Clarke catches her fingers and drags her back down onto the couch. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you go back out there like this. You can do whatever you want here Lex… take a shower, eat something, talk to me. But you’re not leaving this apartment like this. No way.”

Clarke is firm, unmoving and Lexa swallows, staring at her for few long moments before she finally says.

“Okay. Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

“Right,” Clarke’s shoulder slump slightly in relief and she lets out a soft breath. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really,” she laughs, dry and bitter and furious and Clarke’s eyes darken anxiously so she shoves the letter, barely legible now, into the girl’s hands and stands so quickly that Clarke startles.

“I-I… can I take a shower? I just need to-”

“Of course,” Clarke doesn’t let her finish and stands to hustle her into the bathroom, pulling a warm towel from the airing cupboard and smiling softly at her. She lingers in the doorway, reluctant to leave. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Lexa nods quietly, curling her arms around the towel and watching as Clarke inches out of the room. Only when the door swings shut does she allow tears to well back up in her eyes.

\----

Clarke is waiting when Lexa finally slides out of the steamy bathroom. Her skin is pink from the hot water and she’s clutching the towel close to her chest, hesitating in the doorway before taking the clothes Clarke holds out. She shuffles into the alcove where her bed sits and Clarke can’t quite stand to watch her get changed. Despite everything it feels almost too intimate at the moment, with Lexa so bared and open before her, so she bustles into the kitchen and busies herself getting out the slice of lasagne she warmed up for the brunette. Clambering back onto the couch again, she places the meal on the coffee table and holds out the blanket invitingly for Lexa.

The dancer hesitates, looking between Clarke and the couch for a moment. She seems calmer than before but there is a scary, grim quality to the thin set of her lips she the crease of her eyebrows.

“I’m getting drunk.” She announces, carefully and Clarke’s stomach sinks. 

“Lex, no.” Clarke tries to be careful, tries to wheedle but it isn’t in her nature. 

“I am.” Lexa tightens up even further and Clarke sighs softly, 

“I don’t know what’s going on, but drinking is never the answer, trust me. Please just… come and cuddle. We don’t even have to talk about it, you pick the movie, eat some home cooked food.” Lexa is solid, unmoving and Clarke’s voice shifts into desperation. “Please Lexa… let me take care of you.”

“Either get drunk with me,” Lexa’s voice is shaking, just a little, “or I’ll get changed and go out there and do it myself.”

“Lexa come one, where are you going to get booze?” She almost rolls her eyes but her doubt only riles Lexa up further. 

“I’ll make it happen Clarke!” She reaches for the clothes she’d discarded on the bed and Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“Lexa no!” The girl starts to shrug off Clarke’s sweater and she breaks. “Okay, fine! We can have a drink okay? We’ll have a drink just… stay here. Please.” 

Lexa looks over at her, suspicion clouding her eyes and to appease her Clarke rises and brings the bottle and glasses from earlier onto the coffee table, gesturing to them with a flourish of her hand. 

“Happy?” 

Lexa only scoffs but pulls the sweater back on and edges across the room until she can perch next to the blonde on the couch, every muscle still stiff and tense. They down their first round of shots together and Clarke watches carefully over the brim of her own glass as Lexa blanches at the taste.

“Do you want to talk about this?” Her voice is hoarse from the alcohol and she nods to the letter on the table, folded carefully. 

“What is there to talk about?” Lexa is drenched in misery, playing with the glass between her fingers. “I’m not good enough for them.”

“That’s bullshit Lexa, we both know you’re a fantastic dancer.”

“Clearly not.” She reaches over to the coffee table and pours another shot, throwing it back with a grimace and Clarke’s concern clearly shows on her face because Lexa’s expression twists with a slight desperation. “Clarke please… don’t over think this. Haven’t you ever just drunk because you’ve had a bad day? Haven’t you ever just wanted to forget?”

Her eyes dart over to the trash can, where the guilty beer bottles sit and she swallows. “Yes,” she admits, “but that’s how I know it doesn’t work.”

“I need this,” Lexa argues, “I need to just think about something other than…  _ this _ .” She waves a hand at the letter, “please, can’t you just help me? Distract me? Make me laugh… you always manage to make me laugh.” A slither of tenderness sparks in her eyes and when she brushes her knuckles across Clarke’s cheek the blonde breaks. 

“Alright,” she agrees, at last and hurries to add, “but only as long as you eat a bit as well, okay? I’m only letting you do this because I don’t want you out there on your own.”

“Thank you,” Lexa’s relieved smile is soft and sad and Clarke aches to take it away.

“Want to hear a funny story?”

“Yes,” the light in Lexa’s eyes is like a breath of fresh air, “please.”

“Today Octavia called me across town to her apartment because she was having a pest emergency, guess what was wrong.”

“What?” 

“She had a bee in her bathtub.”

“A  _ bee _ ?”

“A bee.”

\----

Later, when they are both significantly more drunk and the apartment is swimming in front of Clarke’s eyes, she cradles Lexa close in her arms where the brunette has slipped down the couch and curled up into her embrace. It’s dark now, the sunlight slipping away with the hours and only a few lamps light up the room. Lexa is sat between her legs, her back slumped against Clarke’s front and the blanket slung around them both. Clarke is running soothing fingers up and down the girl’s arm, watching as Lexa stirs the long cold lasagne around in her bowl. 

“There are other companies,” she says at last, quietly and Lexa jolts beneath her, stiffening like somebody has electrocuted her.

“That’s not the point,” Lexa answers at last, voice tight and Clarke hums quietly in agreement.

“I know you’re disappointed.” She assures her, “but please don’t doubt yourself. Everyone loves you, and rightly so.”

“What did I do wrong?” When her voice breaks Clarke almost crumbles and her grip tightens, as if she’s trying to hold the girl together. 

“ _ Nothing _ .”

“Maybe it’s the new press,” Lexa muses, uselessly and Clarke can hear the waver of tears in her voice. “Maybe they don’t like it.”

“Press is only ever a good thing, Lex.” Her eyes flicker shut, pain tight in her chest and she heaves in a steadying breath before continuing. “All of your press has been fairly kind. The public love you.”

“Maybe they think it’s too pop culture,” Lexa counters and Clarke bites at her lip.

“Ballet needs to be more pop culture.”

Lexa snorts quietly, shaking her head and curling closer in to Clarke, abandoning the pretense of eating her food.

“What if they just think I’m bad?” The words are almost lost in Clarke’s shirt and she feels her heart shudder in her chest. 

“They could never. They’ve got  _ eyes _ .”

“Then what was the point?” Lexa’s voice is quavering again, teetering on the precipice of tears. “What was it all even  _ for _ ? I did everything I could, I worked and worked and worked and yet still…  _ nothing _ .”

“Not nothing,” Clarke’s mouth falls open, aghast, “Lexa you could be a prima anywhere in America if you wanted to. You’ve had offers from all of the major companies in US and a ton in Europe- I know, you’ve shown them to me. And anyway,” she tilts up the girl’s chin insistently, forcing her to meet her eyes, “you are so much more than just a dancer, we’ve talked about this before.”

“I-I don’t, I’m not-” Lexa is getting steadily more frustrated, cutting herself off sharply and she runs a hand through her hair, fingers fisting and tugging on the strands anxiously. “It’s not like that. It’s… there are things you don’t know.”

“Like what?” Clarke curls her hands tighter around Lexa’s waist, holding her close as her breath feathers against the soft skin of the girl’s neck. “Tell me Lexa please, let me help.”

“You- you say that dancing isn’t everything I am… but it  _ is  _ Clarke. It really, really is. If I wasn’t here, in that ballet school, I would probably be dead.”

“What are you talking about?” Her stomach coils uncertainly, brows creased and Lexa squirms away from her embrace.

She peers over her shoulder at the blonde, chewing nervously on her lip as she considers her in the dim lamplight. “Alright,” she agrees, at last. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell anyone, understand? I don’t- I don’t talk to people about this.”

“I swear.” Clarke nods solemnly and swallows back the bile rising in her throat at the words.

Lexa nods and settles her hands in her lap, where her fingers twist anxiously in and out of each other, like snakes. She heaves in a shuddering breath, her skin pale and finally speaks, quietly. “Anya and Indra saved me.”

“What?” Clarke’s brows furrow, “I don’t understand-” she begins again but under Lexa’s frown promptly shuts her mouth, waiting patiently. 

“I was adopted, Clarke. Before 18 I was a ward of the school. Before that I was an orphan. Indra and Anya found me on the streets.”

Clarke’s mouth falls open and she gapes for a moment, disbelieving. “Lexa…” she says at last, trailing off into a heartbroken sigh, “Lexa I had no idea. On the  _ streets _ ? What… you mean you were living rough? How could that happen- what about the foster system?”

“I was in a home,” she tells her, shortly, “but I snuck out all the time. They were understaffed and overworked, one stray, skinny little kid wasn’t much missed and I used to stay out for a few days sometimes just… wandering the city.”

“What about Anya and Indra?” She knows her eyes are as wide as saucers but she can’t seem to control herself. “How could they have just… found you?”

At this Lexa flushes a little, a tinge of adorable embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. “There was a ballet company in the city, practicing for a big show. It was a hot day and the door to their rehearsal room was open. I was messing around in some alley, doing god knows what.” She laughs shyly, shaking her head at her past self with a strange sort of fondness. “I stood at that door and watched them practice for three days straight. Anya and Indra came across me pirouetting my way out of the alleyway and just… decided I needed the opportunity. So I became a ward of the school at seven.”

“Seven?” Clarke echoes, blinking, “you were so young, Lex.”

“It was good for me,” Lexa says it with a sort of finality, curling into herself and she reaches over with shaking hands to pour herself another shot from the greatly dilapidated bottle on the coffee table. “I got a roof over my head, a brilliant education and more of a chance than any other kid in my situation.”

“That’s still a very young age to go without a mom or a dad, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice is hushed and she leans over to take the empty glass from Lexa’s hands and place her palm gently down on her knee. “Did you… do you know much about them?”

“Not a lot,” she swallows heavily, “I was only six when they died. My dad was never really around,” she frowns, eyes distant and Clarke squeezes gently in an attempt to ground her. “They told me later that he was a plumber, nothing too grand or interesting.” A small smile lifts the corners of her lips and she murmurs, “he had a moustache that scratched when he kissed me goodnight.”

“That’s lovely, Lex,” Clarke smiles a little, though she can feel the tears corking her throat. “What about your mom?”

“She was beautiful,” Lexa’s eyes are soft with tenderness and she speaks slowly, as if handling a delicate memory made of cobwebs. “And Russian.” She glances at Clarke out of the corner of her eye, “I remember her speaking it. My real name is Aleksandra, but I changed but when I started at the school.”

“That’s why you can read Russian,” Clarke’s eyes widen with realisation, “and why you wanted…”

She trails off but Lexa finishes her thought with a grim expression, “why I wanted to be a part of the Bolshoi.”

“Lexa,” she feels her heart tighten at the sight of Lexa’s hardened eyes, her lips pulled into a tight line that spoke of tears laced into her throat. “You know your mom would be so proud of you right? And your dad. They wouldn’t care about this Bolshoi thing, you’re so brilliantly talented.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the brunette snaps back, but her voice is quivering, “none of it matter, not even the Bolshoi, not really. I’ve ruined it.”

“Lexa? What? Of course you haven’t, what are you talking about?” She can’t help but reach out, touching gently at Lexa’s arm, drawing herself closer to her. 

“They don’t want me Clarke,” her eyes are glassy with tears, “this press thing has ruined me. The only thing I ever wanted, all I’ve ever worked for-” her hands are tight fists in her lap and Clarke eases her fingers over one, “- all gone.”

“Lexa we’ve just talked about this, the press is good.” Agony rises like bile in her throat and she tightens her fingers over Lexa’s fist, clinging to her. “If they don’t see that then they need to get their heads out of their asses.”

“I just… you say ballet isn’t all I am,” Lexa turns to look at her at last and a few tears run down her cheeks, dripping over the bridge of her nose and jaw to fall onto their hands. “But it really is. Anya and Indra… they took me in to  _ make  _ me a ballerina. They kept me clothed and fed and educated and in return all I had to do was dance, which I love anyway. If I don’t get this… if everything falls apart now I’ve  _ failed  _ them. They’ve wasted it all on me. Twelve years… for what?”

“For  _ you _ !” Her voice rips through an octave, so suddenly loud that Lexa startles, eyes widening, but Clarke can’t stop herself. She reaches out and touches Lexa’s cheek, urging the girl’s eyes back to her own. “They did it for  _ you _ . To give a little girl a chance at life. That’s the most important thing and if they got a great new dancer out of it then fine, whatever, but that wasn’t the aim.  _ You _ were the aim Lexa,  _ all of you _ . Not just your feet, not just your arms or the curve of your neck.  _ All of you _ .”

“But I  _ am _ a dancer, Clarke,” Lexa is hoarse and earnest, tripping through her tears. “I was supposed to be their star and now everything has fallen apart.”

“Listen to me,” she demands, almost angrily, “everything has not fallen apart. This is just a setback and sometimes setbacks are good! But you could break an ankle tomorrow Lexa and you would still be good and important and valuable, understand? You’re more than your talent,” she flounders for a moment, almost overcome by the strength of her passion and willing herself not to tear up in the face of the wonder and awe in Lexa’s eyes. “You’re… the girl who lets in stray cats and feeds them up. You’re the girl who picks flowers on her way home from a rehearsal and keeps them in vases across the windowsill. You’re… taking the challenge of a goddamn  _ terrible  _ dancer-” they both laugh, fragile and small, “- and making her realise that she might just love this more than she thought. You’re everything Lexa.”

Lexa is staring at her, mouth slightly agape and Clarke’s heart breaks at the thought that this is new and strange to her: to be loved unconditionally. She blinks, green eyes swimming with tears, before hurtling suddenly forwards and catching Clarke’s mouth with her own. For a moment there are only the slightly salty, gasping kisses Lexa’s presses to her lips, her tongue tasting of the sting of vodka, her hands grasping impatiently at the bottom of Clarke’s shirt. The blonde falls back, letting Lexa awkwardly straddle her on the small couch, and lets out a shuddering breath when her lips chase down the sensitive skin of her neck, but when Lexa’s hands slide up her shirt Clarke catches her and holds them both still. Lexa lifts her head, tendrils of hair falling around her cheeks, and looks at her curiously. 

Carefully, Clarke grasps both of her hands and pulls them away, trying to ignore the way that Lexa buries her face in the crook of her neck and sucks temptingly on her skin, whining her disapproval. 

“Do you want to move this to the bed?” Comes her throaty question and Clarke swallows heavily.

“Yes,” she says, as firmly as she can, but pulls Lexa to a stop when she jumps up from the couch. “But just to sleep.”

Lexa’s face falls, confusion and regret warring across her features and Clarke stands to join her, curling her hands around her waist and drawing her close. Gentle fingers push back the wayward strands of hair and she says, softly. “You’re upset and you’re drunk Lex. I wouldn’t feel right doing anything with you now, not when I know you’re not in your normal state of mind.”

Lexa huffs out a soft, disappointed breath but finally nods and Clarke guides her back to the bed, easing her under the comforter to slide in behind her and wrap an arm around her.

\----

She’s woken by the sound of her ringtone and she rises, grumbling softly to pad across the apartment to where her phone still sits on the coffee table after last night. Her bleary eyes peer at the screen through the dim morning light, squinting in surprise when she sees the unknown number and she wrinkles her nose. 

“Hello?” Clarke pads into the kitchenette to put as much distance between her and the sleeping brunette in her bed as possible, leaning against the counter to stare out of the window at the street below, still quiet in the early morning.

“Clarke Griffin?” The voice is vaguely familiar and she frowns. 

“Yeah that’s me. Who’s this?”

“This is Indra Weller, from the dance academy.” Her blood runs cold at the name and she swallows nervously, “is Lexa there?”

“Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke, is she there?” Indra snaps, impatiently. 

“What’s it to you?” She feels her defences flaring.

“Because she’s been missing since she ran out of the academy yesterday afternoon and no one has been able to get hold of her.” The words are bitten out, fast and short and Clarke’s irritation only grows. 

“Well yeah, she’s here and she’s fine. You can call off the cavalry.”

“Put her on,” Indra demands but Clark audibly scoffs to her down the line. 

“She’s  _ sleeping _ . I’m sure it can wait.”

“Then tell her to come back to the academy when she wakes up, we need to speak with her,” Indra tells her tightly and Clarke breaks. 

“No! Why should I when you all clearly make her feel like shit?” Indra gasps furiously, but Clarke has found her footing and continues with barely a breath. “No, listen to me, what the  _ hell _ did you and Anya think you were doing when you raised her?”

“Lexa got the best education from us!” Indra argues and Clarke laughs, bitter and harsh.

“The best education maybe, but not the best  _ care _ .”

“Who are you to lecture me on caring for Lexa?” Indra retorts.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you’re bad news, Griffin! Lexa has been different ever since she met you  _ and  _ those press stories have suddenly been coming out. She may be blinded by her affection for you, but  _ I _ am not.”

“If you want to accuse me of something then just do it!” She can feel her cheeks reddening in fury and shame.

“Not yet,” Indra promises, darkly, “but soon. I’m watching you Griffin.”

“Whatever the hell you think I’m up to, Lexa has been  _ different  _ with me because I actually care about her!” She knows she’s blustering but her heart is bright and hot with a righteous fire, indignant and fiercely protective. “Unlike you, I think she’s important for more than just her dancing!”

“Anya and I care a great deal for Lexa, whether she dances or not!”

“Oh yeah? Well she doesn’t seem to think that! Maybe that’s why she came to me: she wanted someone who was going to love her for  _ every _ part of her.”

“Act as pure as you want,” Indra’s voice is so icy that it sends a shiver running down her spine, “I know you’re not all you say you are and I  _ will _ expose you. Sooner than you think.”

The phone goes dead in her hands and she lets out a long, shuddering breath, casting it away across the countertop. Her palms slams into the edge of the sink and her shoulders curl, caving inwards. For a moment the morning sunlight is too bright through the kitchen window, her hands trembling beneath her and she thinks that she might throw up in the kitchen sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I'll do my best to speed up with updates, new fics have been written (and completed) and will be published soon! Let me know what you think below or over on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars


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